


everything, simplified

by halfaday



Series: (the darkest shades in you) [4]
Category: SF9 (Band)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Blood & Violence, Slice of Life, brief descriptions of dead bodies, lives of crime not led by our mcs, nothing actually rly happens, please read beginning notes, slow burn i guess, the tags are scary bc this is a cops au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 62,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfaday/pseuds/halfaday
Summary: Life does not follow a specific plan — it bends when it wants, and twists back when it has had enough. Chanhee, just like anyone, is a pawn to this, only follows the lead he prefers out of the million ones he is given.Chanhee, just like anyone, everyone, is unique — loves, and lives, tries his very best. This is not his story from start to finish, from who he is born to be to what he becomes and dies as, certainly not diving into every corner of his life — but bits, and pieces, of who he is, throughout time. Life (parts of it), and many other things — friendship, purposes, evil, and, perhaps, love. Life, and everything it encompasses, simplified, condensed. Life itself, and everything it becomes.
Relationships: Kang Chanhee | Chani/Kim Seokwoo | Rowoon
Series: (the darkest shades in you) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1530527
Comments: 28
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ^______^ you've never read the other parts of this au but feel like reading it? go right ahead! but be warned: this is a cop/m.e au, which means it contains mentions of murder, violence, abuse — crime in general. it also contains sex, wrapped up in metaphors (and honestly, pretty much nonexistent); a lot of introspection — i put the M rating so i wouldn't have to go through listing every potentially triggering thing, but this fic is frankly much below an M rating (it could be a pegi 15, if you may). it's the typical T fic, expect from time to time there's a mention of dead bodies.
> 
> oh, also. some things might just be incorrect here and there. overlook that. sometimes google does not have all the answers you're looking for. filter out the flaws, focus on the fic and fall in

Chanhee's apartment is a cozy place that looks onto the river. It's not much: a small living-room, host to mainly a red couch and a tall shelf, in which books and DVDs and random pieces of clothing lay stacked upon each other; separated from the kitchen by a tiny, but quite sharp, bar, whose tabletop in black marble contrasts with the white of the walls and the cupboards; a bathroom, containing only bare necessities, but owner of an excellent temperature during winter; and his bedroom, just a little above what is considered comfortably modest, cushy, welcoming after long days spent at the lab — not much, but more than enough for Chanhee.

He had found the place by pure luck; after accepting a transfer a little too quickly, landing many kilometers away from where he'd been working since he'd earned his degree. It was how a refreshing life was supposed to be led, he'd told himself as he toyed with the offer his boss had gifted him; he could not — would not — spend his entire life in the same city, needed to answer the call of his heart that begged for change and novelty. And so he'd accepted, had found himself packing what little possessions he'd collected upon the years (he had always prided his minimalistic years during his stay at university, and finally it paid off), and taking more than one train with them, gazing at the landscape the vehicle speeded by, and the future that seemed to bloom right before his very eyes as he reached his destination. Of course, the reality had been just a little deceiving — a few less petals than what Chanhee pictured, one of his luggage stolen as soon as he'd set foot on the ground; coworkers that weren't as pleasant as he'd thought they'd be; and a hotel room in lieu of a flat of his own, every apartment filled to the brim with people as hopeful as him — but after a few weeks, the wheel of fortune had spun all the way to his doorstep, and he'd found glue on his doormat, ready to fix everything that had gone wrong: he was once more offered a transfer, this time just a few cities away — a lovely place, in admittedly a building that didn't look its best, but, as Chanhee visited the place beforehand (the disappointment that had arisen from his first decision had rendered him clear-minded), he found that what mattered were the people inside, and it's completely charmed that he’d gone home to his hotel room, his decision sitting on the tip of his tongue, his heart beating once more with enthusiasm.

And it had not beaten in vain: little by little, his battered petals had been glued back onto the flower he had grown absentmindedly — from the unpleasant coworkers that made the job just a little awful, to ones that made the corpses he worked on almost unimportant; the city, that lived and shone, and made him smile as he went back to another hotel, this time one that didn't seem as bad of a pied-à-terre as the first one. It was almost as if the sun shone brighter on this corner of Chanhee's life, and, as Chanhee had started to settle into this new life of his, had started to feel a few droplets of rain upon his nape, the wheel of fortune had passed by him, whistling just once, making him look up and stumble upon an empty apartment that needed an owner. A sudden umbrella, that wouldn't allow rain to even graze Chanhee — for it was just what Chanhee's heart had been looking for, a comfortable flat that he would be able to call home.

Home it was — home it has been since then, a little less minimalistic than his room on the university campus as the years have passed, and much less colorful than his hotel room (although the amount of black has been shrinking nowadays); much smaller than what most of his colleagues at his first move ever wished for — but just the right size for him to settle down, and bloom once more. 

Blooming he has been, hand extended out of the umbrella that is now his to feel the rain, used to the life that was once all new, frightening and fascinating all at once. Content with his career, and what his life has become — but on some days, the wind blows, and his umbrella cannot protect him from its cold embrace.

On some days, as he turns off the lights of his shared lab, as he walks out of court after yet another successful trial, as he shops for groceries during the weekend — as he lies in bed after a long day, tired and cold, not quite managing to warm up under the covers — he yearns to have someone by his side. On some days, he wishes the wheel of fortune gave him someone to fill the empty space in his bed, whose arms he could hide into and whose waist he could hold, whose scent would lull him to sleep and would comfort him as he wakes.

On some days, he feels lonely. On some days, he does not bloom at all.

**⁂**

It's not that Chanhee is undateable. He has dated, a few times, here and there. Not enough to earn the nickname of _Don Giovanni,_ or even to be deemed appropriate to approach when one suffers and desperately needs relationship advice — but he _has_ dated. 

He's had a girlfriend in primary school — but primary school stories do not matter unless they change you, and this story has given itself its own meaning a long time ago: Chanhee has completely forgotten the girl's name, and can't ever remember how old he was when she first kissed him (on the tip of his nose, because her mother said kissing on the lips created babies. Funny, how the brain remembers things and forgets others — funny, how uneducated children are.)

Thus — he's had a girlfriend during middle school; another girl that had managed to look past his already very telling obsession for dinosaurs' bones and his questionable interest for pop psychology (the only type of psychology he could somewhat understand back then). Another girl, and the last one. Very kind she was, and Chanhee realised he liked boys much more than girls thanks to her - but gratefulness and love are two different things: Chanhee, though he didn't comprehend much beyond horoscopes and cared much more about T-Rex skulls than emotions, decided she did not deserve to live in a lie, and broke up with her. As kindly as he could, preoccupied by the exchange student one year above him that smiled as brightly as the sun; and, when he'd left back to the uk, once more only interested by skulls of creatures gone extinct billion years ago — he'd gently told her he didn't love her anymore, and hoped she would take it well.

She hadn't; but life is impossibly hard when you're thirteen-going-fourteen, and Chanhee, even back then, even fooled into thinking the stars owned his destiny, understood that perfectly.

Afterwards, it had been harder to date — but when he did, when somehow infatuation hit perfectly, the experiences were different, more mature and yet still childish, baby steps into the outside world that could not quite hold the weight he and his partner wanted to be, gigantic jumps across teenagehood, then adulthood, that yet did not last more than one night, one date. The three boyfriends that Chanhee had, that shaped parts of him he still sometimes sees in the mirror — past parts, that still live inside of him, but that he no longer cherishes; past parts, that have been eroding as time ticks by.

Seunghoon had been his first love (why even count nameless-girlfriend and Nicole, when they had been a path he'd taken by mistake?), and the short story they'd had was impossibly sweet — almost too sweet, ending around lollipops at the bar-tabac by the corner opposite to the high school they both went to. Chanhee's first broken heart, tears spilling on notes they'd exchanged during study classes, hands shaking as he threw most of their memories away; gifting the two plushies Seunghoon had won for him to a neighbour's child, burning every letter of his, keeping the lighter he'd forgotten on the table after crushing and mutilating Chanhee's heart. Ironically, he'd used this exact lighter two years later, to light the one and only cigarette Gun would ever smoke.

_Excuse me,_ Chanhee can still hear him say, _would you happen to have some fire?_ And then he'd coughed, like all non-smokers do when they take a drag of a cigarette, like Chanhee had done when he'd had the fleeting idea smoking was cool.

It wasn't, and that's mainly what he'd learned with Gun — that being true to oneself is the best thing one can do, and that love does find a way to you, no matter how unattractive and unlovable you think you are. Selflessness, laughter and tranquility; all three qualities of Gun, that he'd learned to enjoy and even wear — that didn't even seem to fade as they realised they simply did not match anymore, that (as pop psychology said that week, had Chanhee looked at his horoscope) they were not made for each other.

Gun, master of Chanhee's many firsts, ones Seunghoon was too immature to see and get, ones that weren't on Chanhee's mind back then — ones that Chanhee had polished and rediscovered with Taylor, an australian exchange student. A history major, one that liked theory more than practice; and yet he'd managed to excavate things Chanhee never thought he had in him — a passion for the foolish cartoons playing on Sundays at 9am, an interest in karate, the pleasure to belong to someone, and come home to a lively household. So many things his charming smile and endearing self had managed to unwrap for the world to see, and yet, as things started shattering, as history repeated himself and Chanhee chose his career over love — none of these really mattered, seemed to retract, even, back into a place Chanhee knew Taylor's departure would seal with a lock. It was a chaotic breakup, somehow full of emotions Chanhee doesn't remember feeling anymore. There had been screams, then tears — broken words, broken voices; despair, and finally, resolution, admitting they didn't fit anymore. Taylor called it selfishness, said Chanhee was cold-hearted — while Chanhee decided to make the sound conclusion that no matter how well they fit together, their cores were very different, and that never did wonders in the unsure forest that is love.

Now that Chanhee thinks about it again, he can see why Taylor called him selfish, and what led him to think so — and although he still resolutely believes they only fit on the surface, he has reached another conclusion, which is that back then wasn't the time for love, and overlooking this crucial fact had been a mistake. A mistake easily made, by a heart that yearned to be adored once more, that had taught him things, but a mistake nevertheless, something that left imprints here and there onto his heart.

Harmful imprints, vicious ghosts that sometimes came back to haunt him — but as life went on, and continued without Taylor's brown eyes and charming laughter, the scars lessened, and soon enough Chanhee had graduated, was working, finally being who he'd fleetingly dreamt of becoming when his fifteen year old self was reading about careers in the medical field and thought that _perhaps, medical examiner did not seem too bad of a job_ — when his freshman self, exploring what he hoped would be his dream job, had promised himself he would do his very best to achieve this passion of his.

Love was far behind — a distant memory when he reached for a pen in the pocket of his coat, and instead grabbed an unused lighter; when a coworker had mentioned watching _Ninja Yuki_ with her children, every Sunday without a fail; when he'd passed by the kindergarten and primary school near the bakery where he got his coffee fix, and had overheard a boy say children came from kisses on the lips. It wasn't necessary anymore: the emptiness that came with being human, that Chanhee sometimes felt as a student — it vanished into thin air with work; the crimes and the corpses they dug up taking all his time, from the one he was paid for to the one he spent on the way home, to the one he could grant the cases he was working on when he was at home, supposedly off work. 

And it's not as if Chanhee has more time now, it's not as if his career isn't his entire life anymore — he holds onto it dearly, and would, always will, place it first, above everything else he's ever done and ever wished for. But he's gotten used to this mad rhythm, has had time to grow and rethink himself a million times.

And somehow, sometimes, when he still has energy when he gets home, when he lies back on his sofa and cranes his neck just to get a look at the view —

He wishes someone was there to witness it with him.

**⁂**

The morgue is situated in the basement of the forensic science centre, a recent-looking building that somehow manages to appear as if it were fifty years old, with an architecture that never fails to raise eyebrows and tilt heads in confusion. It clearly would not win any kind of beauty contest, but the interior makes up for the ugliness of its envelope, sculpted ornaments on the walls of the lobby, bright lights that lead the way and embrace every person that sets foot on these grounds, paintings here and there that light up the atmosphere — modern equipment, which is heavenly to use and rely on; and of course, affable colleagues, people Chanhee has been pleased to work with.

He isn't static, is sometimes asked to work at the hospital or further locations that require him to take the train, but the basement, as anyone who works there calls it, is where his office is — is where, after recklessly moving to a city he had barely heard about, and finding a little sort of misery, he'd found happiness, flourishing like he'd never done before, finally feeling like he belonged somewhere. It is not fully home — Chanhee has been taught many times not to call his work home — but it somewhat is; a part of what makes Chanhee feel so comfortable, an adjuvant to the recipe of comfort and solemnity — because, after all, home is where the heart is, and the heart can be at multiple places at once.

He had arrived on a Tuesday, out of breath as he'd run from the bus stop to the centre, hair intact but his coat drenched. He looked like an absolute mess, like he'd been the one lying on an autopsy table for a few days — but Juho, fellow medical examiner who had been charged to welcome him into the centre, had not held it against him, instead nodding sagely as Chanhee complained about the weather, taking his coat and hanging it to dry in the office they would share from then on, offering him a coffee before visiting the place.

He had been very kind, smiling each time he introduced Chanhee to one of his — now _their —_ coworkers, giving tips to Chanhee about the best coffee in this part of the city, the mysterious mug thief that throve in the break room on the top floor, talking and talking as if they had met before and were simply meeting after a long time spent apart. With him by his side, Chanhee had found it easy to settle down, had gotten used to his new life quite quickly — and it was with a smile, that he entered the centre each morning.

Still now he enters the centre with a light heart, and feels at ease around his coworkers, in the basement — and on some days, he finds that it is enough.

**⁂**

Working with Juho meant being friends with him, and soon after arriving, Chanhee had found himself surrounded by people he'd never met, people that were eager to know more about him and his life. The circle of potential friends has reduced since then, a few of them having moved away, and most of the others having revealed to be less interesting than they first seemed to be, less interested in Chanhee than they first were — but still, a few have remained, and Chanhee has found in them seeds he'd never thought he'd grow, a garden simply waiting for an osculation of the sun. 

There is Juho, of course, his unofficial partner with whom he's never argued, whom he has always found easy to appreciate — but there is also Youngbin, working upstairs (as the ones of the basement call it), a ballistics expert but also an incredibly sweet man, always cheering his team on and doing his best; Sanghyuk, a lawyer Chanhee did not trust at first, but who has managed to make himself a place in his life since their first encounter, radiating energy and common sense, intelligence and, surprisingly, an honorable sense of morality; Youngkyun, a police officer who was once a narc, who’s keen, clever, and easy to talk to when he and Chanhee are not working on cases; and his partner, Seokwoo, older than him but not at all wiser, insanely pretty and even kinder, perceptive and calculating — volatile, just a bit, but Chanhee has gotten used to it since the first time they met, is very much familiar with his fleeting thoughts.

Not many friends, but much more than enough for the sun to shine upon the garden Chanhee's new life had sworn to become, for the rain to be nothing more than a temporary thing, soaking him to his bones but kicked out and forbidden to remain as he dries in front of these people's fire, gentle and considerate, amicably warming him up. It's not much, but to Chanhee it's everything, like his small apartment and the routine his job has become — a part of his life, of himself that he cherishes more than anything, something that defines him, and that he has the right to define himself. A creeper delicately wrapped around the pillar his career built, that he can lean against no matter what; a plant whose scent lulls him into quiet security, tranquil happiness — not always sunny, but that always creates rainbows when it rains, that makes every flower of his grow into something better.

**⁂**

Seokwoo is tall, impossibly tall — on some days, when he's too lazy to comb his hair and it becomes a bird's nest, it almost reaches the door frames of the lab, has Chanhee fearing for his skull. It always, always seems to him as if this time, all of the door frames will be slightly lower, and Seokwoo will walk right into the one leading to his office, smashing his forehead, his skull, his brain, right in front of Chanhee, gasping dreadfully as he dies.

But today, just like always, the door frames remain of the same height, and Seokwoo walks, reaches the empty autopsy table unharmed.

'Sorry,' he says, and he hands Youngkyun a coffee, offers one to Chanhee knowing fully well he will dismiss it with a wave and a _no, thanks._ 'Traffic was pretty heavy.'

'It's fine,' Chanhee smiles. 'We were just about to start.'

'Sweet. what's up?'

_A lot of things,_ Chanhee starts with, and it takes at least fifteen minutes to discuss the corpse linked to their case. It's a tricky one, with a perp who has knowledge in the medical field — something dangerous, when it comes to murder — and the victim is giving him a hard time, mirror of what they probably went through.

'There's poison in their system,' he says, pointing at an image on one of his screens. 'Rodenticide.'

'Rodenticide?'

Chanhee nods, almost gives Youngkyun a comforting smile.

'Yup. Team upstairs is trying to figure out which brand it is exactly.'

He doesn't know how long it'll take — probably a while, he says, and it's only when the clock strikes nine thirty that the pair leaves the office, unfinished coffee in hand for Youngkyun, in the bin for Seokwoo.

'Oh, yikes,' Seokwoo says as they head out, Chanhee trailing behind them, files Juho asked him to deliver in hand, 'that's disgusting. Imagine dying like that.'

'They were strangled, Seokwoo,' Youngkyun unhelpfully corrects.

'Still — that's disgusting. And also really stupid, why go through that trouble if the perp was going to strangle them anyway?'

Seokwoo trips on the end of the carpet that's been curling up for a while now, that he somehow forgets about every time he comes around. He barely manages to catch himself, and he's quiet for the rest of the way to the lift, eyebrows pulled into a frown, one he often wears when he's thinking hard about something, trying to see the missing pieces of the puzzle he's solving. It's an amusing habit of his, one that Juho always points out and mocks when he does it in front of him — but that's how he wins his cases, Sanghyuk had once said, and Chanhee knows it to be true — finds it cute too, just a little. Not always (not that he would ever admit it anyway), but sometimes, Seokwoo is so lost in his mind that he scrunches up his nose, that his lips part as their thoughts lose their footing — not a painting one would consider a part of the series of the universal beauty, but Chanhee finds an upside-down charm in it — couldn’t explain it if he wanted to, but it isn’t as if he’d like to give it a try.

And it doesn’t quite matter: Seokwoo is very much mentally present as the lift takes them up, lips forming a thin line and nose as wrinkless as it usually is — _I have an idea,_ he mumbles just as the doors of the lift open, revealing the lobby, and he starts talking, unveiling the newest theory his brain just birthed. 

Chanhee never hears it, never hears the end of his sentence, the doors shutting and the lift taking him to the fifth floor, where Mr. Lee is extremely pleased to be given the files of the West Creek case. He only gets back to his office twenty minutes later, and does not have the time to even think about anything: a new case has been assigned to him, and he's got the body of a twelve year old to examine.

He sighs, braces himself for horrors he knows he will never be ready to face — puts on his coat, and leaves for the Thousand Lights Bridge. The day will be long.

**⁂**

Sanghyuk takes a sip of his orange juice, adam's apple bobbing up and down. The first two buttons of his shirt are undone, and the tie he always wears when he's in a good mood is shoved into the pocket of his coat, freeing him of the dirt he carries on his hands at all times.

'How're you holding up?' he asks, putting his drink back on the bar, turning to Chanhee. He looks pretty, when they sit like this, under the dim lights the bar always turns on at this time of the day, when the sun is setting but most of the citizens refuse to acknowledge the night, a timeless fight that can never be won — his lashes seem longer than they already are, and the flush to his cheeks, the same that Chanhee has and abhors, is attractive, makes him look more like a human being than the shark he constantly plays. Chanhee would almost be tempted — but Sanghyuk doesn't have a green thumb, prefers building the highest tower over taking care of a garden.

'Like anyone would, I guess. Guy's in prison, so that's about it, but…' Chanhee rubs his face, covers it, along with everything it could reveal to the world, for a few seconds. 'There's no revenge that's good enough.'

Sanghyuk pats his back, gently — authorises him to lean on him, a luxury he has never given to anyone else.

'I know,' he says, and Chanhee doesn't need to look at him to know he's looking at nothing in particular, staring into the void as thoughts flash by in his mind, almost becoming what his eyes are set on. 'It's tough.'

_Don't you want to change jobs?_ he asks later, as they're setting out, going home to rest a little, before the world needs them again and burns their candle once more.

Chanhee shakes his head as he puts on his scarf, winter still residing in the air, clinging to everything it can grasp, trying to fight back against spring. It'll lose, eventually — soon, Chanhee thinks as it starts to rain, early April showers forcing them to take cover into Sanghyuk's car.

'No,' he says, while Sanghyuk starts up the car, fumbles around looking for his phone charger. 'As much as I probably won't get rest tonight, no. I…'

He stops, is unable to even form thoughts. Why does he do this job? Why won't he quit? It's right there, a golden opportunity he could seize whenever he wants to — a new life, _change._

Perhaps he has gotten older? Change doesn't seem as tempting.

Or perhaps is it only the change of career? Chanhee frowns, thinks about it. It's true: he would be unhappy without this job. Not that seeing the two thousands and one sins of humanity makes him happy — but this would be a different kind of unhappy, one that would stick with him and would not fuel him, one that would eat away at him until he dies.

He doesn't want to quit — likes his job.

He says it — out loud, once, then repeats his words, as he finds Sanghyuk's charger and hands it to him.

'Like your job, huh?' Sanghyuk laughs, drives out of the parking, adjusting his rear-view mirror. 'They say that destroys lives.'

Chanhee thinks of all the bodies he's seen; dead, alive, on the brink of death, tortured, violated, skeletons and corpses set ablaze — of all the families that have cried before him, shameful and shameless, furious and resigned, brokenhearted, unable to see the light in the tunnel they've been transported to. He remembers his classes, and the real-life cases he'd studied, his first body and his first autopsy, his first talk with a victim that wasn't dead, his first trial, and the ones that followed. He thinks of all the times his side lost, of all the times he's seen, met whom he was sure was the reason behind the naked, mutilated corpse lying atop a table in his lab — of all the times he's wanted to strangle the ones that walked, and didn't even look back to witness the consequences of their acts. He thinks of all the times he's looked at himself in the mirror at two o'clock in the morning, and wondered when he'd finally slip, and absolutely lose it, the pain sometimes too big for him to carry.

The traffic light turns green, and Sanghyuk laughs at something on the radio, some ad he always finds hilarious, and knows by heart.

'But will you take it, Rose?' he quotes, and cackles as he replies, imitating the awful fake french accent of 'Rose' perfectly, 'Oh my! You're a gorilla! Why should I?'

He laughs as he takes a turn, reciting and reciting, and in his laughter, Chanhee finds the first time he saw him win a trial, the first time they were working together. The triumph on his face, the hug he'd given him — his laughter, that echoed in the courthouse, and in the restaurant where they'd celebrated their victory, that was just as joyful as the one Chanhee hears now, just as joyful as the ones he'd let out as they won again, as _he_ won, and wanted to tell Chanhee.

Briefly, Chanhee sees every family that's ever thanked him, every smile he's been given when he delivered important information, every ounce of relief he's felt as he knew a case was closed, and evil had been defeated once more.

'I think it also saves lives,' he mutters, quietly. Sanghyuk doesn't catch it, but it doesn't really matter: Chanhee knows he knows, knows he doesn't have to justify himself. This is something they share, something Sanghyuk will always defend — he understands, and empathises.

Later at night, as he gets into bed, and prepares himself for another sleepless night, Edgar Lee's newest book on his bedside table, and a few sleeping pills right next to it just in case it gets too much; thoughts cascading and cascading, crashing against each other, Chanhee is hit with the memory of Seokwoo frowning on the lift — in his office or at his own desk — frowning then smiling, as he figures it all out, as he thinks up how to announce that he has it, it's over. He's hit with the text Youngkyun had sent him just before the verdict of his own trial had been released, earlier, this afternoon — _we won,_ it said, _Seokwoo has never been happier._

Bizarrely, probably because he's drowsy after exchanging with Sanghyuk, because he's sleepy and his brain is stumbling a little here and there — he wonders what the apogee of happiness looks like on Seokwoo. He sees a smile, hears laughter — fancies he can almost taste it himself —

and he falls, deep, into slumber's embrace.

**⁂**

Chanhee's neck hurts as he massages it, making a few moans escape his lips as he tries to find and undo the knot near his C7 — yet again another night spent poorly, sleeping badly (when sleep allowed him to find it).

'... see, it's really fascinating that you mention it, because I literally thought the same yesterday. How crazy is it they haven't done anything?'

A small bit of grilled chicken lands right by Chanhee's head as Juho probably waves his sandwich around, a habit Chanhee really wishes he did not have.

'They probably don't care. Last time, I went to tell Eddie about it, and it was almost like giving a fuck would cost him a billion bucks.'

A thin slice of salad lands next to Chanhee's head, closer to him this time, and the only thing that manages to calm Chanhee's sudden fury is the hand that comes to rest on his nape, that starts massaging the exact spot he's been looking for for the past ten minutes. Chanhee sighs, content.

'It's worrying, though. Like what do we do? Imagine if this were happening to our material…'

'Agreed. I personally think…'

And the conversation continues, goes on until the little digital clock set on Juho's desk beeps, signalling that their break is over — Youngbin's hand deserts Chanhee's neck, pats his head as Youngbin wishes him good luck, tells him to stay strong. Juho is drinking a coffee from the vending machine down the corridor when Chanhee rises, and he gives him a tiny smile, pats his shoulder before announcing what's been planned for this afternoon. Not that any of them needs a reminder, but Chanhee listens anyway, nods when Juho pauses and asks for his opinion.

'Say,' he says a few hours later, as he's inspecting the third skeleton of the Midward case, 'what were you talking about with Youngbin during lunch?'

'Oh.' Juho stops skimming through the files Sally gave him, puts them on his desk. 'Just the broken toilet by the break room. Have you seen that shit? Water just keeps spilling out of it, it's gonna cost an arm and a leg! Hell, more than one arm! Many legs!'

Juho goes on a rant, mumbles that whoever should be taking care of it is completely incompetent — and Chanhee, internally sighing, deeply regrets ever asking the question.

**⁂**

The new Margaret Kim, _A duvet and a knife,_ is pointlessly complex, more than her books usually are, and Chanhee shuts the book on chapter ten, tired of the characters talking about fountains, plants, and their own families. Not that he ever has an idea of who the murderer is around this time of the book — but sometimes he does, is just starting to figure it out, and this one, with its botanical garden and annoying side-characters, is making it impossible for him to focus. Weekends are supposed to be a time for relaxation, and Gretta and her three dogs are doing everything but relaxing him.

However, there isn't much else to do other than read: every tv channel is rebroadcasting movies he has no interest in; a nap doesn't sound too tempting; and his next grocery shopping session is planned for Thursday. The river outside isn't offering much distraction, and there's still some hours before the sun sets, before everyone starts to hurry back to their homes, bracing themselves for the week that's about to start.

The upcoming week — Chanhee has a few files to hand back to different teams. Has one that belongs to Youngbin, already completed — has one he didn't finish on Saturday, suddenly caught up in Juho's plan to eat out, celebrating his most recent win on a trial. It had been fun, Chanhee thinks, even if Sanghyuk had chosen an expensive restaurant.

He watches as two kids run towards a dog, giggling as they crouch down to pet it — here are people unbothered by the weekend, that do not have to worry about handing files and handling the truth without toying with it — Chanhee is reminded of himself, nine years old and spending his entire time rereading _Dinosaurs throughout the ages._

He grabs a jacket, his keys, and leaves.

The morgue is the same as always, cold when you enter it, pleasantly warm as you leave it — it doesn't take Chanhee long to finish up his file, takes even less long to write down conclusions two others were missing. He heads out to the police station with them, aiming for a two birds, one stone; telling himself that's something he won't have to do tomorrow morning.

He's aware the station is never empty, that there will always be officers there — but still it surprises him, and he flushes a little when some of them greet him, joke about him working overtime.

'Bored without your dead?' Old Gureum says, giving him a sweet smile to soften the sarcasm in her voice. Chanhee doesn't really know what to reply, wonders which, between yes and no, is the appropriate answer.

It doesn't matter: Gureum doesn't expect anything, and she's in the lift before he can even open his mouth. As always: she speaks just to remind people she's there, to remind them she's here if they ever need help.

Seokwoo is sitting on his own desk when Chanhee enters space 12 of the third floor, his back to him, a full mug of coffee near his right hand, and Chanhee can almost see the chaos ready to happen, biding its time until Seokwoo moves his hand, and spills the entire thing.

'Your file,' he calls, as softly as possible, hoping Seokwoo won't start — he doesn't, and instead turns to him with a smile.

'Hello to you too.' He stands up, suddenly appears way too tall — takes the enveloppe Chanhee is handing him, peers into it like he's a child and this is Santa Claus' reply to the letter he sent back in December. 'Working overtime?'

'Just like you, pot.'

'I'm not working overtime. Today's part of my shift of the week.'

Seokwoo gestures towards the board, full of photographs and names linked by arrows and bolded lines, where a heavy list of crimes has been written down.

'Arson? Torture? I don't remember working on a body like this recently.'

'That's because you're not on this case. Chief assigned this case to the other lab.'

Chanhee looks away from the board, at Seokwoo.

'The one two cities away? That makes no sense.'

'Gotta keep our stats up,' Seokwoo says, matter-of-factly. 'Chief loves knowing he can rely on two hundred labs across the globe.'

'Sweet.'

Seokwoo smiles at the sarcasm, rises to write something in one of the corners of the board. _27/10 —_ Chanhee has no idea what it means.

'Don't worry. Crime never dies. I'll be back at the centre in no time, kettle.'

Chanhee thinks of telling him he really wishes crime would die, actually, but Youngkyun walks into the room just as he opens his mouth, and the start of conversation the both of them were having goes off on a tangent, takes a few turns until Chanhee feels like an outsider, as Seokwoo and Youngkyun exchange leads on this case he hasn't been assigned to.

'Well,' he says, heading towards the door, 'I'll be going. Good luck, guys!'

'To you too!' Seokwoo says, waving him goodbye excitedly, as Youngkyun simply replies _goodbye._

It's half past six when Chanhee reaches home — half past seven when he's done eating dinner and washing the dishes, and he sighs, grabs _A duvet and a knife_ and sits down on his couch. It's a little more readable this time, characters just as infuriating as they were before, but Chanhee looks past it, gets his interest piqued by a side-character who owns a farm, and one whose mother recently died. Of course, one of them gets killed off, and it's just a little before nine that Chanhee rises from his seat, leaving his book on the table, heading to the bathroom to take a shower.

He doesn't really need one, hasn't spent enough time at the lab to smell like it, but he's bored, and wants to be drowsy, wishes to just crash in bed and sleep until his alarm rings.

The night side of the city is awake when he walks to the window of his living room, hair still a little damp and body wrapped up in a bathrobe, too lazy to put on his pajamas. It lives — Chanhee watches as it breathes in and in, cars speeding by on the faraway highway; people coming out of their antres as the night wraps them in a secure embrace; stores and clubs in the south of the city, lighting up and awakening once more, welcoming in all the shades of youth and a few ones of older lives, younger ones, people that should be in bed rather than dancing. It breathes in, and out — Chanhee wonders just what will happen to all the ants he sees beneath him, if one of them will end up in space 12 on the third floor of the police station; if one of them will become his job; or the person Sanghyuk desperately tries to send to prison. He wonders, and knows it is much too early to get an answer — looks away from the window, and draws its curtain, decides to leave the reply up to the little dots humanity forms beneath his feet.

His bed is cold, a reminder that he needs to fix the heater in his room — but it's comfortable nevertheless, cosy and soft underneath him, as he tosses and turns, trying to find the perfect position to sleep. It takes him minutes until he settles on one, and he closes his eyes, calls to Hypnos to take him away.

Hypnos doesn't acknowledge him until half past ten. In the meantime, Chanhee overthinks everything — and it's just as he's about to reach a conclusion to his mental rant, that he's taken away.

He wakes up hugging his pillow desperately, and his heart beating insanely fast. He cannot remember anything, apart from beverages spilling everywhere.

**⁂**

Youngkyun is sweet, handing Chanhee a coffee, smiling when their eyes meet.

'What is it, this time?' he asks as he sits down. 'I rarely see you like this.'

Chanhee tries to nod — has to muster up strength to do so, so he remains silent just a little longer, opting to reply with words.

'Nothing much. Just went out and had a drink last night.'

Which is partly true: he had only remained in _The Great Sun,_ club recently en vogue, for five minutes, immediately invited out by someone who was leaving — with whom he had indeed shared not one, but a few drinks. It's the end that he'll never admit, no matter how obvious it might be, the turtleneck he's wearing making him suffocate as the sun of the summer burns and liquefies everything it shines on; the invisible, but somehow palpable vibe he carries indicating he had sex the night before.

It's not something he wants to keep secret — but he doesn't want to brag about it either, especially when he can barely remember the name of the one who shared his bed, who left thanking him for _such a great night, a pity Chanhee is only interested in a one night stand._ The shame he's had to face as he discovered the hickey right above his collarbone, as someone of the lab upstairs pointed out he smelled of cologne, as he mistook everyone for the pretty man who was in his bed just a few hours ago — he doesn't want to deal with it, is trying to bury it in the deepest corner of his mind, where he wants it to die and never resurrect, just like all the times before this one.

He doesn't want to talk about it, wants it to simply not exist, not haunt him as he gets home that evening, remnants of the cologne his night companion wore _(bathed in,_ Chanhee mentally corrects as even the couch, untouched last night, reeks of it); the bruise he obtained when he accidentally knocked his elbow against the door while undressing his partner; the shape he can almost see in his bed, curled up against him, keeping him warm and safe, whispering sweet nothings to him as he drifts off to sleep — only holding onto him, not saying a single word, making Chanhee wish he would speak, wish he would try to stay by his side.

But Chanhee, as they were kissing for the first time, outside of the brasserie they'd drunk at, had stated, had specified, just against his lips, as he pulled the man closer — this is a one time thing, he'd said, are you aware? _Are you okay with it,_ he'd asked, and now Chanhee remembers that he never heard the man's answer, was only kissed back, and back again, all the way to his apartment and into his bed, into climax and into slumber, one last time as he was left alone, once more — whatever the man's answer was, it had fallen into deaf ears, and as Chanhee rose out of bed to let him out, to end whatever they'd had, the man had not repeated it, perhaps giving up himself on whatever they could have had, thinking — no matter what he'd said out loud — Chanhee was not worth it, was better off as a mere memory.

Had he ruined it, or had who he was simply left the other dissatisfied — a question without an answer, that will probably remain like this, alone and never finding what it deserves to get, swimming in the pool of doubts Chanhee created for himself many years ago. Haunting him in his loneliest moments, making him feel like whatever he has does not match with the rest of the world, whispering to him the conclusion he constantly reaches: he's better off alone, far away from a happiness that is shaped like someone else — far away from what he's watched destroy billions of lives, and never once leave one as pure as they once were.

Yet he finds himself going out again, to the north of the city this time, where clubs are a little pricier, and the risk of running into someone you know is just a little higher — but there isn't a single coworker of Chanhee around at _The Pink Mermaid,_ and Chanhee sits at the bar, watches the crowd of amateur dancers as he sips on some cocktail that would probably please Sanghyuk, that he finds disgusting. He remains there, for minutes, hours — he doesn't know, has no cognizance of time and how it passes — until a hand brushes against his neck delicately, has him turning around and smiling.

'You being alone is a crime,' a man Chanhee has never met says.

Chanhee accepts the hand he's offering, the dance he'd like to have. _You can change that,_ he wants to whisper to his ear — but the music playing is loud, deafening, and the man holding him close to his chest is already convinced, doesn't need to be seduced — they simply dance, until one of them has enough, decides to hold the other by the waist and roll his hips, to start a kiss and trigger a roundabout they're both familiar with.

This time Chanhee finds himself on the backseat of a car, with leather seats and a faint scent of expensive perfume masking one of expensive cigarettes — a car that doesn't hold up to the price it's sold at, Chanhee thinks as this guy goes down on him, and it's the last coherent thought he has before a while, lost in a carnival of sensations and touches.

He wouldn't be able to tell what time it is when he gets home, by subway and foot, because accepting the man's offer to drive him home would create chances for something more, something Chanhee doesn't want tonight — he takes a long, burning shower, brushes his teeth three times and crashes into bed, wearing a tee-shirt that dates from his freshman year at university, and shorts that once belonged to Taylor.

He tosses and turns — kicks his covers off and groans, sighs, buries his face in a pillow. It still faintly smells of the pretty man, the one who smiled as he gave Chanhee his name, as Chanhee made a pleased comment at the sight of his muscled chest — Chanhee throws it across the room, curls up on _his_ side of the bed, and closes his eyes, lets the events of the night settle in his bones and carry him away, somewhere he isn't aware of a single thing, and leads the happiest life he could ever have.

He doesn't dream.

**⁂**

'You look awful.'

Chanhee looks up from the history magazine he's been skimming through, articles upon articles which he can't quite read, head too cloudy to register any sentence longer than five words — Seokwoo is smiling, some hot beverage in hand, hand on the chair opposite Chanhee's, like waiting for Chanhee's approval to sit. His left eye is a little swollen, shades of blue and purple painting its contours, some green even colouring his cheekbone.

'Look who's talking,' Chanhee shuts his magazine, throws it on the nearby table upon which he found it. 'Pot.'

The chair is noisy as Seokwoo pushes it back to take place across him, and Chanhee lets out a displeased moan, rubs his temples.

'Sorry for the noise.'

Chanhee waves the apology off.

''s fine _._ What happened to you?'

'Unhappy perp.' Seokwoo takes a sip of his beverage — _definitely coffee,_ Chanhee thinks as he breathes in, and smells the familiar scent of the awful beverage sold in the building. 'But I believe it'd be a story way too long for you.'

'I have all the time in the world.'

Not that it's true, and not that he means it — Chanhee is about to pass out, to either faint or take a nap right on the table, for at least a few years, or a few centuries, if he feels like going big. Seokwoo must sense it.

'No, let's focus on you,' he says. 'What's got you like this? Partied too hard last night?'

Chanhee, for once, really wishes that was the reason he's been on the verge of shutting down since he got out of bed this morning — really wishes he had gotten drunk, or at the very least tipsy, had gotten laid and had woken up feeling dead inside but also ephemerally fulfilled, and happy, and that he'd power through his day thanks to that.

But no, it's not that at all, and Chanhee almost wants to keep the truth for himself, because it's macabre and stupid both at once, something he should have gotten used to years ago. It's a shame, almost — but as he looks up, and meets Seokwoo's gaze, he feels like Seokwoo won't tell if he finds it foolish, won't judge him for what shouldn't be common for him anymore.

'It's my autopsy,' he mutters, and he brushes his hair back, leans his head on his hand so that Seokwoo, the entire world, judgemental and mocking, does not see him. 'My victim from yesterday.'

'Did something happen? Did Sally and Youngho find something new?'

'No.' Chanhee looks at Seokwoo through his fingers, sighs and brushes his hair back again before settling his hands on the table, fiddling with them as he tries to find the courage to utter his thoughts. Somehow, he feels like hiding as he explains everything would kill him even more, would be like murdering the little thing all over again. 'She was twelve years old. Twelve. Apparently had her birthday party on Saturday. Five days ago. She's been decapitated. Her two hands have been severed; they’ve been hidden or taken away. They're… for sure not in my damn lab. She-'

He feels tears, somehow, pricking his eyes, and he hides his face once more, takes a deep breath before looking at Seokwoo again.

'I'm not going to list off all the things she went through. I'm not going to just talk about it like I'm discussing what's for dinner tonight. I just- I haven't been able to sleep, is all. When I close my eyes, I just see her — dead, lying on my table, at my right, with the rest of her body at my left, instead of- where it fucking should be. I just- I see her, and-'

He doesn't manage to finish his sentence, too emotional, too close to tears to continue. Already he can feel sobs climbing up his throat, threatening to come out, and he closes his eyes, tries not to cry. It works, kind of, but not much, and he sniffles, once, like he's a kid who just got told crying is overreacting, who hasn't learnt to control his emotions, who's tired and simply wants to be held — he mutters a _fuck,_ and he buries his face in his hands.

'Do you want a hug,' he manages to hear, in-between mentally scolding himself for being this emotional in public, and feeling like his heart might break if he bottles up these tears; and he shakes his head, laying a hand on the table as he does so, sniffling as best as he can to swallow his emotions.

'No,' he croaks out. 'I'm fine. It's gonna pass.'

But it doesn't, and Chanhee finds it impossibly hard to just breathe, to do something else than silently, internally cry — he coughs, and tries to take deep breaths, almost lets out a sob.

It must be quite a sight, for Seokwoo to witness, a spectacle he'll probably forget in a few years, but that he'll remember for now, a pathetic performance whose only star is Chanhee — already Chanhee can hear the laughter at space 12, in his own lab as Seokwoo repeats everything he's heard and seen in the break room.

Or perhaps not — perhaps, just like Chanhee imagined, Seokwoo won't judge, will keep everything for himself.

Because a hand, two hands, are laid upon his, the warmth of the cup they were holding seeping through Chanhee's, reaching the saddest, loneliest corners of his soul and embracing them, telling them everything is fine.

'Do you want to go to the washroom?' Seokwoo asks, in a whisper. 'To let it out in peace.'

He strokes Chanhee's hand as he waits for a reply, tracing tiny circles with his thumbs, widening their size when Chanhee rejects his offer. 

'It's gonna pass,' Chanhee repeats, knowing he's lying, knowing he's far from being able to make it believable.

Seokwoo, still, doesn't judge him.

'Alright,' he says, and he delicately slides a hand under Chanhee's, holds his frail hand like it is what hurts rather than Chanhee's heart, the memories constantly replaying in his head — he holds it, and caresses it, gently, without expecting, asking for something in exchange.

Unknowingly soothes Chanhee's soul, and renders his mind gentler towards itself, less judgemental, more accepting of its feelings — and it takes a while, for Chanhee to collect himself, to be able to swallow everything that's threatening, requesting to be let out, but eventually he succeeds, and he's able to look at Seokwoo.

Kind, gentle Seokwoo, looking at him with a hopeful smile, like a kid, naive, innocent, would look at their parent as they ask them why their eyes are red — looking at him with compassion, comprehension glinting in his eyes, and Chanhee, who was trying to find his words, to thank him and apologise in the same breath, is left voiceless, unable to speak his mind.

Here is someone who understands — someone who, even if he didn't, does not seem like he would mind hearing him out, witnessing him breaking into a thousand pieces — someone who cares, and wants him to be fine. Someone who, somehow, makes Chanhee feel as if he's not alone — as if, for once, for just a fleeting while, he's complete, and has meaning.

Just for a few seconds, Chanhee finds himself beaming.

**⁂**

'It was really a bummer you were not there.'

Sanghyuk twirls his empty glass of wine with his fingers, expertly catches it when it almost falls. He looks odd, sitting on Chanhee's couch, his bottle green suit (one of his all-time favourites) making him look way too overdressed — but then again, that's an art Sanghyuk excels at: dressing so expensively, so outrageously well that his job is already half done when he sets foot into court, his words ensuring him a certain win if his presence fails to convince a few jurors. Chanhee has seen it work its wonders, has witnessed the moment jurors look at Sanghyuk and decide _that's it, obviously this man is on the right side of the law._ Which is not always true, and definitely not how law works, but the universe does what it wants, and as jurors blindly believe Sanghyuk, Chanhee's couch becomes his throne at least once a month, not fitting him in the slightest. Looking rather strange, and uncanny; but Sanghyuk has never cared about sticking out like a sore thumb and thus, Chanhee's only conclusion has been to get used to the visual disharmony of his home, sanghyuked and looking much more expensive every time Sanghyuk visits. Looking as if it were not his at all, but Chanhee has been growing accustomed to this, has learnt the menacing aura Sanghyuk exudes is less of a threat than it appears to be; much more of bottled up kindness and safety.

'I don't think I would have been able to make it,' Chanhee mutters, hugging his blanket a little tighter — curling up into a ball, letting go of the remnant of pride he's shown so far. He feels awful, terrible, not like he might die but almost — he really just wants to wake up feeling fine, well, like he won't be puking his guts if he eats something, like he can do something else than stare vacantly at the frozen river, looking up ways to quicken his recovery and napping his days away.

Sanghyuk smiles, compassionate, seeming to understand his heart without hearing him out.

'Next time, then,' he says. 'Without a fail.'

Chanhee manages to let out a laugh, that sounds pitifully weak and breaks when he tilts his head, but that makes Sanghyuk grin anyway.

'Next time,' he repeats minutes, perhaps even one hour later, as he's putting on his shoes and coat. 

Chanhee thinks that next time might just be in five years, when they're no longer friends or not working the same job — that until then things might change and roughen them up, ruffle their feathers and cut some of their wings — but he doesn't say it, forbids the curse to leave his mouth and to take shape, locks it away in a corner of his mind, where hopelessness is stacked upon despair, where hardships reign and gnaw on optimism, parasite it until it no longer exists. He keeps it for himself — nods as Sanghyuk already plans this outing that _he will most definitely be a part of, be sure of that;_ thanks him as he leaves his apartment; and waves at him as he enters his car, as he drives away and back home, some place that Chanhee, somehow, has never visited since the start of their friendship — that he doesn't really need to ever see, he thinks as he grabs _A duvet and a knife,_ and settles once more into his couch, waiting for sleep to gain him as Detective Kim solves all the crimes committed with a wrench — wherever it is, however it looks, he knows he, Chanhee, would stick out like a sore thumb.

Youngkyun sends him a text around one o'clock in the morning, because Youngkyun is Youngkyun and if he's not undercover or on stakeout at this time of the night, then he's home, and unable to sleep, like a cat who sleeps all day and awakens as soon as night falls, like the moon calls him every night and forbids him to ever sleep, charmed by who he is and wanting to know him better, to know him more, quietly leaning on him as Youngkyun surrenders, and shows it everything he is.

That's a problem Seokwoo doesn't seem to have, or if he does — because if Chanhee were the moon, he would be tempted to orbit him, and cast the most heavenly light on him, to fit his features perfectly, and give his personality the ethereal glow it keeps hidden — he never mentions it, remains quiet and never texts Chanhee while he tosses and turns, doesn't talk about it when they're together.

_Can't sleep,_ Youngkyun texts, like he's done before many times — and for once, Chanhee is awake, and able to reply to him. Youngkyun is somehow surprised, answering the _me neither_ Chanhee sends with a _aren't you supposed to be sick????_ , and, in-between two vomitings, Chanhee tells him he is, and that's exactly why he's awake.

'Is it that bad?' Youngkyun asks ten minutes later, the noises the city makes around his small apartment in the centre not quite covered by his voice.

'I've known better days.'

Chanhee rambles, rants for a few minutes, tells Youngkyun he's sick of being sick. Pours his heart out, then, in exchange, listens to Youngkyun talk, pictures what he explains and mentions, replies when he believes what Youngkyun has been talking about needs to be discussed.

'Then what's bothering you,' he mutters, as Youngkyun is talking about one of his former colleagues, a narc, being offered a transfer to space 12, and feels like it's not a good thing.

'I don't know,' Youngkyun says, admits. 'I just don't feel it. Seokwoo…'

He trails off, and for a moment the only thing Chanhee hears is the cars passing by, close, as if the window of Youngkyun's living-room is wide open, and Youngkyun is leaning on its frame, watching cars pass by as he tries to find his words.

'What about Seokwoo? You're scared of him being jealous?'

_He doesn't seem the type,_ Chanhee almost says, catches himself right before his mouth opens and he makes a hypothesis that might not be as true as he thinks. He knows Seokwoo — but not that well.

Yet Youngkyun replies that it's not that, not at all — gives Chanhee a reason to believe he does.

'I don't think Seokwoo would get along with him. Not that it matters, you know… But I've changed since the last time we saw each other…'

And what does that have to do with Seokwoo, Chanhee wonders — Youngkyun can be overly, pointlessly difficult to understand sometimes, and whatever seems logical for him is to others a can of worms, gigantic and impossible to open — Chanhee gives up on trying to link Seokwoo to this all, and keeps on listening, lending Youngkyun a literal ear and a metaphorical hand when troublesome things are mentioned.

Youngkyun hangs up at half past two, finally sleepy, and Chanhee rises from where he's been sitting all this time, the carpet right by his shower, back against the wall and blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He isn't sleepy, doesn't manage to fall asleep; he grabs his book, waiting for him to read its end, and he downs the remaining chapters as if they were a pleasant treat rather than an insufferable poison.

Naturally, the murderer is the gardener — Chanhee dreams of him, joining Youngkyun's squad, becoming partners with Seokwoo, letting him get shot, and leaving him for dead as he runs away from the crime scene — Youngkyun cries, and keeps repeating it's his fault as they bury his ex-partner, in a barren meadow where birds of paradise keep on singing, and singing, jabbing Chanhee with their beaks, mocking Youngkyun as they fly back and away — the sky is pink, then red, and the priest laughs and laughs as Youngkyun cries, becomes a puddle of tears.

_Ex-colleague said no, in the end,_ Chanhee reads after he wakes up. _he won't be joining us._

Chanhee feels odd, all day, as he takes a shower and tries to eat something, as he kills time away by watching whatever's on TV — and it's only when he's in bed, about to fall asleep, that he realises what he feels, is relief. He doesn't know why, doesn't understand why — he is taken by Morpheus, and his million dreams, and when he wakes, he's forgotten everything about it.

_Great news. Are you celebrating?_

**⁂**

The lobby, the lift, the office are comfortably warm, much more than the cold outside that bites and jabs everything, everyone, and it's letting out a pleased, contented sigh that Chanhee takes off his coat, making sure not to make too much noise, unwilling to disturb Juho's phone call.

'No, no… Well, did he mean it?... No. No, no.'

Juho waves at Chanhee, mouths that the files Youngbin Absolutely Needs are on his desk, can Chanhee please give them to him — winks when Chanhee takes them, gives him a few coins to buy himself a hot chocolate, a congratulatory gift he offers when he owes Chanhee a favour. Not that Chanhee ever needs it, but it's how Juho, kind Juho, works, and as his friend, Chanhee thinks he shouldn't question the way he repays him.

Youngbin is bent over his keyboard when Chanhee enters his office, staring or sniffing or doing whatever that is not typing but still has him a few centimeters away from his keyboard, and he starts when Chanhee closes the door, looks up wearing an embarrassed expression — until he recognises Chanhee, and promptly lets go of the shame that seized him, pouting instead.

'One of my keys is stuck,' he says, sounding like an eight year old rather than the adult he's supposed to be, pointing at the _k_ of his keyboard. 'How am I supposed to thank Mrs. Kim for all her great work during her years in my team?'

He seems genuinely sad — genuinely emotional, like he always is, strong-looking man with a frail heart that very often hurts, angel that fell on earth and who has no knowledge of his former home, who wants the entirety of humanity to be fine.

_'I am sincerely grateful for everything that you did during your years in my team,'_ Chanhee suggests, laying the three files whose heaviness Juho had forgotten to mention on his desk. _'You were one of the best wor- employees I've had the chance to have by my side.'_

Youngbin looks at him, then his screen, then back at him. Starts typing, then shakes his head.

'No. I can't just give up like that. I'm gonna ask someone to fix this.'

Which is exactly what giving up would be, Chanhee thinks, but he keeps the comment for himself — Youngbin is right beneath Youngkyun when it comes to making decisions that make no sense, second only because he's the older one between the two; and, no matter how gentle he might be, Chanhee very well knows he would not hesitate to whoop his ass.

He trails behind Youngbin as he exits his office, knocking on a few doors and asking if Eddie is here today, because he's having a slight computer problem.

'Saw him in the break room,' a girl Chanhee has seen a couple of times but whose name he can never remember says, and it's in front of the lift that Youngbin parts ways with Chanhee, deciding he's in the mood to climb seven flights of stairs all on his own, patting Chanhee on the back and telling him to enjoy his day.

Annoyingly, naively cheerful, just like Sanghyuk says he always is, and Chanhee holds back a laugh, endeared. Youngbin is, in many ways, what he likes and cherishes in a partner — but he's older, and Chanhee fails to see him as something else than a very good friend. A pity, he sometimes believes he should think — but never once has he regretted being ‘just friends’ with Youngbin.

Quite the opposite — being friends with him gives his petals shades he would never even dream of — has him blooming no matter the weather.

Somehow, he doesn't get back to his office until much later, whisked away to examine a body found on the streets at the back of a café, stomach growling so loudly on the way back that the inspectors who are in charge of the case decide to make a stop at a fast food, and he's cold and reeking of fried chicken when he gets back to the centre — tired, and wishing to head home, but the day is far from being over.

Perhaps autumn is getting to him.

Seokwoo is talking to someone, a coworker probably, when he enters the centre, and he waves at Chanhee, ends whatever conversation he was having to run to him, like an excited puppy that was waiting for its owner, jumping on them as soon as they get back.

'You okay?' he asks, a very, very long scarf wrapped around his neck, gloves still keeping his hands warm, no matter the fact that he's inside. He, too, makes no sense sometimes.

They've been talking, since Chanhee cried in his company — getting closer: they’ve been friends for some time now. But, recently, Seokwoo has been just a little kinder, making sure to smile around him, and thank him whenever he can, orbiting just a little around him when he's in the area, and chatting him up for no reason, to discuss things they don't really need to discuss. Acting like Chanhee might not survive if he doesn't talk to him, which is simply ridiculous, but Chanhee has to admit it's nice, having someone around, caring about him, even though this someone sometimes talks too much, and is questionably erudite when it comes to the lore of the _Rebecca, Princessly Friend of the Unicorns_ movies — it's nice, being a little intimate with Seokwoo, getting to talk to him outside of work or gatherings after trials and heavy cases, seeing him around even when he doesn’t expect to — knowing he can count on him, a little more than before; being able to trust him.

So — Chanhee swallows the knowledge he has of these little goings-on, ignores how often he suddenly sees Seokwoo, and plays right into his hands — foolishly, he knows, but if Seokwoo has kept his breakdown for himself, then he thinks it's not wrong to believe he won't scratch him, will manipulate him gently.

'I'm cold,' he says, gesturing towards the lift. Seokwoo follows him.

It's a challenge, walking next to him, being a little too conscious of how frighteningly tall he is — something that must be helpful when he's running after suspects, Chanhee thinks, or trying to scare them during interrogations. He quickens his pace, a little too aware of the tiny steps Seokwoo is taking.

'I can see that.'

Seokwoo presses the lift button in Chanhee's stead, smiling softly when their eyes meet. He's awfully cheerful, today.

Chanhee words this thought.

'It's nothing,' Seokwoo says, walking into the lift after him, shoving his gloves into his pockets. Holding out his hands, palms towards the ceiling, like one would when asking someone for a dance.

Confused, clueless, Chanhee accepts whatever offer he is making — places his hands upon his.

'My sister just texted me.' Seokwoo joins Chanhee's hands, puts them in a praying position; rubs them gently, warms them up. Something Chanhee hasn't seen, experienced since he was fifteen years old and the boy next door, much older, was trying to get laid, kissing every accessible part of his girlfriend's face, holding her hands and warming them up in hope that'd get her answering a _yes_ when he finally asked The question — but Seokwoo doesn't seem like he's trying to get laid, much less trying to get something out of this. But then again, Chanhee thinks, he doesn't know him that well — _but still,_ he mentally argues, and as Seokwoo explains… something, two parts of Chanhee's brain fight, to know (decide) whether or not Seokwoo has an ulterior motive.

'You're not listening.'

Chanhee looks up, suddenly brought back to reality.

'I'm sorry,' he says, feeling a familiar hotness creep up on his cheeks, spreading to his ears and neck — really making him regret weighing fors and againsts on whether or not Seokwoo has something on the back of his mind while bringing back some warmth into his frozen hands, really making wish he'd stayed in bed this morning.

'It's fine,' Seokwoo smiles, like it doesn't matter at all. _Kindness,_ a voice whispers to Chanhee's mind. He ignores it. 'Am I boring you?'

'Wh- wha- no, not at all! I've… I'm just a little tired.'

Seokwoo nods, genuinely seems to empathise with Chanhee — asks him if he wishes for him to remain silent for the remaining time of the ride.

(Kindness.)

'No,' Chanhee says, shaking his head. 'Go ahead, speak. What were you saying?'

He was talking about his cat, Seokwoo explains, back home — who's never been neutered because she was apparently sterile, but she just had kittens.

'Kittens!' Seokwoo exclaims, giggling like a baby who's been handed their favourite toy, and he goes off on a lengthy tangent, rambles even as they're out of the lift and Chanhee's hands are back in the pockets of his coat. Chanhee loses attention a few times, doesn't hear a few words here and there — but Seokwoo's smile is huge as he talks about his love for cats and how he used to cuddle _his little Choco_ as a college student — much bigger than the smile he'd given Chanhee after he'd told him he wasn't listening to him; and as he trips up on some words, as he goes off on another tangent, Chanhee realises the smile he'd thought was sincere, is nowhere near the one he wears currently — nowhere near as bright, nowhere near as healing.

_Kindness,_ Chanhee thinks to himself later, as Seokwoo leaves, and waves at him before entering the lift; and Chanhee corrects himself as he waves back — _honesty._ Without even being aware of it, without knowing he's obvious — a purity of soul that Chanhee is not familiar with, that begs to be discovered.

Chanhee shakes his head, and locks the idea away, in a well of his mind that has no end. _No,_ he tells himself, picking up the seed that lies there, and crushing it so it does not exist.

Yet — he doesn't feel an ounce of sleepiness, of exhaustion as he goes on about his day. Life, as they say, finds a way.

**⁂**

The lights of the club are a dim purple, just the right amount to navigate but still bump into strangers — from his seat at the bar, Chanhee watches as lives get tangled and broken apart, exes stumbling upon the boyfriend they haven't managed to move on from, strangers quietly leaving together, girls who didn't know each other five minutes ago exchanging numbers and promising to remain friends forever.

'I'll add you on here too!' one of these besties screams as she sits down beside Chanhee, wrongfully grabs his drink. Chanhee lets her: that's a disgusting whiskey anyway, and he's just the right amount of tipsy to be conscious while he fucks up, while he finds yet another person he doesn't want to know at all.

This time it's a tall man, much taller than Chanhee, wearing a cowboy hat (stupid, Chanhee thinks) and a glittery shirt (very bright). Definitely not what he'd go for sober, but then again one night stands have never been an idea he's had sober — it's a desperate concept, for when only alcohol and the heat of another body can heal him, for when even sleep cannot comfort his soul properly. Oblivion — that is what he seeks, what he is after.

And, somehow, he doesn't find it tonight. He goes home alone, untouched — unsatisfied, but nothing, he concludes as he takes a shower, as he rids his skin of the ghost of the only kiss he'd accepted to receive, before he'd suddenly felt uneasy and had turned away; nothing can quite satisfy him. Not a book, not some distraction, not even his own hands — not even a stranger, and he crashes into bed thirty minutes later, an emptiness in his heart that he cannot fill, that he does not even understand. It isn’t the first time this happens, the first time he’s left lying in bed, thinking everything is going awfully wrong — but it hurts just as much as it did then, just as much as it did the following times — Chanhee curls up on himself, burrows his face in his pillow — groans, and sighs, and perhaps lets out a single tear — closes his eyes, and hopes for a better tomorrow. Perhaps then, he thinks, perhaps then everything will be alright.

It isn't. 

**⁂**

'Inseong is really pretty,' Youngkyun says, thoughtfully, and Chanhee looks up from his phone, a professional mail he shouldn't be reading outside office hours, especially when it was written to infuriate him — he closes the page, and clears his throat.

'Right,' Seokwoo says before he can even open his mouth, stealing the reply he was going to give. 'He has a really nice laugh.'

_Indeed,_ Youngkyun mutters, and a quiet conversation about Inseong follows, praising him and acknowledging Juho has taste when it comes to men — when it comes to partners, and lasting relationships. _They've been together for a while,_ Chanhee remembers Sanghyuk saying once, when just like tonight Inseong had shown up, desperately needing Juho to come home because of something Chanhee hadn't bothered to remember.

It's true: Juho has magnificent tastes, and Chanhee nods, hums, agrees as Youngkyun and Seokwoo do most of the conversation, of the same mind but too lazy, too tired to word his emotions, mirrored anyway by the two others.

Eventually the conversation dies out, and none brings it back to life, Youngkyun yawning and stretching, Seokwoo announcing it's late, implying their curfew has come. December is cold, dangerous when they step outside, and it's quickly that Chanhee huddles into Seokwoo's car, shivering at the coldness of the vehicle.

'Let me fix that real quick,' Seokwoo says after getting inside, undoing his scarf with one hand and turning up the AC with the other. Turning off the radio, settling on tranquility, on a few minutes away from the world, always ablaze and rebelling, fluttering and wanting everything — everything that Sanghyuk isn't, peace emanating from silence rather than a thousand faceless voices, a million sounds.

'Youngkyun still doesn't want you to drive him home?' Chanhee asks, just to create some kind of conversation, to keep himself away from feeling uneasy at the lack of exchanges, the silence too comfortable, too natural. Almost normal, like it always is with Seokwoo — oddly familiar and easy to adapt to, like a skeleton key opening doors Chanhee made sure to lock away long ago; uncomfortably knowledgeable and settling there without a warning, summer sun softly revealing, warming walls Chanhee had forgotten about — creepers and weeds growing in the cracks of a castle's ruins, ruling once more on the territory that used to be theirs, giving them a second chance no matter how inefficacious they are now.

'Nope. Still doesn't want to.' Seokwoo shrugs. 'It's not like I'm not used to it. He'll text me once he's home.'

Illogical Youngkyun — taking decisions that have Chanhee tilting his head, wondering why the hell he does what he does. But Seokwoo is used to it, understands him — or if he doesn't, he has learnt to simply brush it off, to treat it as humanity, and how it makes everyone unique. Youngbin, and his inability to work with technology, his ability to break every new equipment the centre is given; Juho, and the aura that makes him so easily likable — Youngkyun, and his tortuous reflexions, his incomprehensible conclusions.

Seokwoo doesn't talk much more, replying to Chanhee as he asks a few more questions, about his day, his cases, and if he's doing well — banalities; and silence reigns once more after a few minutes, as Seokwoo drives throughout the city, and another.

'You're not taking the highway?'

Seokwoo shakes his head.

'No. Too much people there at this time of the day.' He frowns, turns at an intersection, then casts him a glance. 'You don't mind, do you?'

'Not at all.'

Chanhee thinks of saying he actually likes going through the cities better, but he doesn't — it doesn't really fit in the conversation, he reasons, and even if it did, it doesn't really matter. Seokwoo seems to like calm, seems to be fonder of peace when the sun is down and fatigue has settled in his bones. Like a battery: running out of energy, unable to do anything once he's discharged.

Chanhee wonders what charges him — books, or perhaps quiet rides that are endless, with no particular destination; music — but what kind? Chanhee wonders, thinks — doesn't ask, watches as the lights outside go from blue to red, shine purple then green. Imagines, later as he's in his pajamas, watching the ants beneath his apartment, buzzing and living — Seokwoo looking at the view, his view, and taking it all in, finding beauty in it, just like he always seems to do with everything he sees. Almost wishes it were real,

and, curled up on his couch, eyeing the scenery with a loving gaze, he dozes off — falls into a peace that only belongs to him, one that none else could ever fill in his stead.

**⁂**

_I like indie pop,_ Seokwoo replies when Chanhee asks him about his music tastes, a few days later — the question, the thought, has been on the back of his mind, bugging him and refusing to fade — Chanhee sees himself surrendering to it.

But surrendering is more pleasant than expected: Seokwoo starts talking, and talking, and eventually calls him, arguing that they might as well ‘truly talk’ if they’re just going to text each other back and forth without a break.

‘Have you heard of _The Romantic Love Story of Us, Everything That Stands Between You and Me_?’

Chanhee gazes at the cabin cruiser on the river, unloading a flock of people from its sharp insides — a couple, hand in hand, and their dogs; a family; a lone man; a group of old people.

‘Not at all,’ Chanhee says.

There’s a sigh at the end of the line.

‘My, my, my. I’ll have to change that. You’ll know what will be playing the next time I give you a ride.’

_Someone has to educate you,_ Seokwoo says, and Chanhee smiles.

‘Sure.’

**⁂**

Shops are busy at this time of the year, more and more people finding some sort of significance in Christmas and the new year, wishing to give their special someone a gift that conveys love and joy, finding happiness in celebrating something with one's family — or, sometimes, burdened to buy things for people none wishes to meet, none wishes to ever know.

Chanhee doesn't have this problem: his parents couldn't care less about holidays now that he's _all grown and far from home_ (something they say often, that has, on a few occasions, made him wonder how they ever powered through all the parties they threw when he was younger, innocent, and thought the earth took a year to do one full rotation) — and, although Chanhee sometimes feels a certain emptiness when he hears about gatherings and parties colleagues are invited to, he knows it is mostly unfounded, and that the trunk of this idea grows in the greenest meadow that's ever been, on the other side of everything that has ever happened, and will ever happen in his life.

Juho, however — Juho is another story. Eyeing two identical snowglobes (or at least, they _look_ identical, in Chanhee's opinion) while holding way too many bags of gifts for his father, Inseong, his mother, his father again, Inseong, Inseong, his mother, his uncle (Chanhee had given up counting and taking notes after the fifth bag) — he loves Christmas, loves offering gifts, and loves being with his family even more. A sweet man, of course — all he'll ever be, the brightest being of light; and, although Chanhee needs no gift for a special someone, for a member of his family, or for someone he dearly hates, he still assists him in his shopping, holds a few of his bags when they get too much for Juho.

It's… a lot more work than expected, and Chanhee is very relieved when Juho offers to take a break.

'Splendid,' Juho says as he peers into one of his bags, iced coffee sitting on the table untouched. 'I'll just have to get a few more things for Inseong, and then we'll be good. Pa is gonna be so pleased.'

Chanhee doesn't really know what to answer — mostly thinks eight gifts for Inseong is a bit much, but Juho is Juho, and how he makes his boyfriend happy is not his business, especially when he's heard from Youngbin that Inseong goes overboard just like Juho.

'Shopping with him is pure madness,' he remembers him saying, one year ago on a day Youngbin looked particularly tired, particularly drained out, and Chanhee had asked him why. 'I'm not going out for at least a month.'

Not that Chanhee feels the same — he's used to shopping with Juho, now — but it _does_ get tiring, and it's with a slight pout he rises from his seat forty minutes later, when Juho decides it's _time for the home straight._

'You know,' he says, as he picks a jumper for Inseong, a turtleneck that Chanhee believes he's choosing for his eyes rather than the upper-half of his boyfriend’s body, 'you could come if you wanted to. To our Christmas dinner, I mean.'

It's the second time he makes this offer — when Chanhee said no last year, when every time he's implied inviting Chanhee again this year has been silenced by Chanhee himself. It's tempting, to roll his eyes at his stubbornness, to judge him for not quite understanding why Christmas means nothing to him — but he's asking Chanhee out of kindness, because they're associates, friends, and Juho, angelic Juho, really just wants the best for him, and that, for him, means spending Christmas with people he cherishes.

And although it might be tiring to say no, to feel like he's not quite understood, Chanhee thinks that in the end, it is fine — they're young, still growing: Juho has all the time in the world to understand, and Chanhee does not mind waiting.

He declines, as politely as he can, knowing spoken words will never do justice to what he feels — _I know you care,_ he wants to say, _and I am very grateful for that. Thank you._ Juho doesn't seem to mind, to care; he nods and says _alright,_ then moves on like lightning and proceeds to ask him whether he should buy the brown or the black turtleneck. Pointlessly, because Chanhee knows, by experience, that he'll buy both.

He still feels a little guilty when Juho drops him off in front of his apartment, and he pays it no heed, but he feels it rising as evening comes and goes, leaving its seat in the sky to let night grace the city with its presence — it takes root in his heart and grows just a little, becomes something he doesn't enjoy, and it's a few hours later that he curses Juho for having manners towards someone whom he knows will decline a Christmas invitation, and decides, lovingly, to buy him a card to thank him for being a good friend.

That, at the very least, should appease the guilt.

Chanhee doesn't mean to spend days looking for _the perfect card_ — enters his first shop thinking it will be easy, but it is anything but that, and a week passes without him finding something. Everything is too cheesy, he thinks, too related to a god he doesn't believe in, and, although he knows Juho wouldn't mind a baby Jesus wishing him _a Merry Christmas amongst the Lord's Well-Guided Lambs,_ Chanhee thinks he ought to make it feel like him — because what is Christmas, if not a way to bridge two souls with a gift? So he searches, and searches, makes extra trips on the way to work or back home, but finds nothing.

That is, until Youngkyun finds him scrolling cards websites during a lunch break he's having at the station, and makes a comment about it.

'Shopping for christmas? And here I thought I'd seen it all. I know you're not a pro holiday-wise, but shopping for _cards_ on the internet is a level of desperate even Youngbin hasn't reached.'

And he sits down, because of course Youngkyun is clueless and never realises it when he makes an offendingly right statement, and it takes five minutes and a few french fries from him to admit that, indeed, Chanhee is more desperate than Youngbin.

'I just want to buy Juho a card,' Chanhee concludes after explaining it all, pouting, truly sad; and, in a corner of his mind, he wonders if all this Christmas nonsense isn't getting to him.

Youngkyun bites down on his hamburger, chews, then takes another bite. Clearly, he does not know what being more desperate than Youngbin feels like.

'Shust ashk jeogu,' he manages to say, but Chanhee understands none of this gibberish, and it takes another thirty seconds for him to articulate his sentence properly: 'just ask Seokwoo.'

Chanhee tilts his head, Youngkyun removes a bit of tomato stuck between his front teeth.

'He knows the best shops for cards. That's like, his best talent, second only to his height and how frightened perps are when he runs after them.'

A rather funny picture — Chanhee refrains from laughing at the mental image — but he lets it slip two days later, as Seokwoo takes him into streets he'd never even seen before.

'That's mean,' Seokwoo says, his words creating puffs of air as they battle against the cold weather, hands deep in their pockets and four rounds of scarf wrapped around their necks. 'I'm not that scary. and I'm not that tall.'

He argues that he's seen, has arrested much more taller perps, and he's midway through telling a story about a perp who was a bodybuilder and definitely frightening when he opens a door that seemingly comes out of nowhere, accidentally losing Chanhee for a few seconds.

'Come here,' he says, and he reaches for Chanhee, still walking forward, drags him to his side. Obliterates his argument of him _being of standard height,_ towering over the passer-bys and Chanhee, his arm not even fully extended, and Chanhee points it out, makes sure to hyperbole just to get a rise out of him — Seokwoo looks funny, when he's offended and trying to find what to retort, eyebrows coming together to form a rather funny frown, lips slightly puckered as they test out words to see what will sound better.

'Your long arms,' Chanhee says in the midst of his childish call-out, 'your overly long arms that are four meters long.'

It works — Seokwoo frowns, makes a face even the most spoiled six year old in the world would not pull — but it all disappears when Chanhee laughs, his lips suddenly stretching into a smile, his eyes glinting as he looks away, mutters Chanhee is just as mean as Youngkyun.

'I'm not.' 

'You are.'

But Seokwoo keeps smiling, doesn't once frown as they look around, even when he looks over Chanhee's shoulder to peer at the card he might, might just buy, and Chanhee makes a comment about it.

'Akin to a telephone pole,' he starts, and does not get the luxury to finish, Seokwoo walking away, pretending he's hurt.

And he's not, Chanhee knows by the way he feigns chopping his neck every time he teases him, failing to hide his smile when he thinks Chanhee isn't looking — but still, another kind of guilt sets home in Chanhee's heart, bigger, but easier to appease, and he buys him a card too, tells himself he'll gift him chocolates to thank him for his kindness, and his patience.

_For being an amazing shopping partner,_ he finishes his little note with, and he cannot stop himself from smiling as he folds the card full of water-colored cats into its enveloppe (barren, except for a very tiny cat at the top). 

Christmas will probably never be his cup of tea — but he can see the joy that resides in such times.

**⁂**

January is cold, freezing, and it brings corpses along with its arrival, frozen bodies suddenly showing up here and there, all of them naked, each of them marked with a different initial carved somewhere on their bodies. For the first time in a long while, Chanhee wants to puke. 

The perpetrator is a monster, Juho tells him as he examines the fifth body, and Chanhee can only nod, disgusted by the fractured fingers and the absence of guts in the victim's stomach, the ones that were instead wrapped around her neck when the police found her. It's a heavy case, a long one when it comes to things like this, and Chanhee witnesses its effects on everyone like a lonely spectator at the movies: how it wears everyone down, from the police to the people, scared and yelling that someone _ought to do something!_ ; how it eats away at each and every person attached to this case. For the very first time, he regrets ever picking this job, and thinking it would ever make him happy. What happiness is there to find in such remorseless acts he has to inspect and record?

But March comes — and the wind, as if it sensed the change, as if it were aware of the bloodlust and the war facing it, changes directions, blows in Nemesis' favour, lifts the side of her balance that was until then sinking.

The police discovers someone — a victim, clothed, scarred; alive. Traumatised — unable to stop crying, unable to find reassurance in the words of comfort police officers, doctors whisper to her. She's shaken, broken apart into a million pieces, and Chanhee knows, as he looks at her through the window of her hospital room, exactly why he works this job, and not another — why he works at the morgue, rather than the hospital.

'What such acts leave behind,' Juho says, as they discuss the case in their office, 'it can't ever be described. The dead have suffered — but they never have to go through the trauma of making it out alive.'

But perhaps there is hope — there isn't any in the victim's eyes, bottomless green lakes that stare emptily at their surroundings; but Chanhee dearly wants to believe it's only a matter of time, that she'll get there at some point. Sanghyuk represents her, lends her an ungloved hand and swears to get whoever is doing this behind bars until death claims them, with or without her testimony. It takes a toll on him, but Sanghyuk is frighteningly good when hatred and disgust fuel him — he, too, changes as March hangs up its helm, becomes angrier and mightier. 

And as he prepares for battle, as he promises to fight until he is no longer breathing — the skies above crack, rumble and roar, announce war.

And it comes, riding its horse: the police finds a lead, and works it. Overdoes itself, burns all its candles — but it pays off, and eventually, Chanhee wakes to a text of Youngkyun. _We got the bastard,_ it says, and they don't get a confession — but they have evidence, and that's more than enough for Sanghyuk.

'She's not walking out,' he promises before the trial, his all black outfit making him look smaller, inoffensive — everything that he isn't, that he will not let himself become. Chanhee believes him.

Seokwoo is sleeping, head pillowed on his crossed arms, spine dangerously positioned, frighteningly shaping a tortuous path — uncombed hair looking like a jungle, seemingly soft and silently begging to be explored. Chanhee knows better than surrendering to such calls — he ignores the whispers and pokes him in the shoulder, once, twice, thrice, until he wakes.

'What?'

His voice is huskier than what Chanhee is used to — his eyes shine brighter than usual, and there's a thing that makes him look different, that somehow has Chanhee swallowing. Vulnerability, perhaps, rendering the little wrinkles he has at the corners of his mouth sharper, yet smoother; rendering the slow blinks of his eyes endearing; rendering his lips, red, slightly agape, much more attractive, calling for Chanhee's attention. Here is a side of him Chanhee has seen before, and yet — looking at him makes him feel like he was blind all this time, like he was watching without ever seeing, looking through an image rather than at the reality.

'We're celebrating, remember? Juho is waiting for us.'

_Right,_ Seokwoo says, and he repeats the word three times; once as he tries to shake himself out of drowsiness, once after rubbing his eyes, and once as he rises and stretches; finally putting on his coat, yawning as he and Chanhee leave space 12. He's used to rising at indecent hours and operating in unholy circumstances, but still he walks just a little slower, takes a little more time to answer.

'I'm fine,' he answers when Chanhee asks him if he's okay, if he would instead prefer to be driven home, 'just sleepy.'

Which would be enough of a reason not to go to Youngkyun's, but Seokwoo smiles — as if it were a proof of his health, as if it were enough for Chanhee.

(It is.)

Youngkyun's flat is not quite big enough to host and welcome six people, but it is a soldier that tries, and with a few changes (mostly the kitchen table moved into Youngkyun's room, to his greatest dismay), it becomes just the right size. One of them does have to settle for a simple pillow on the floor as a seat, but that's something Youngbin doesn't mind doing.

'Or you could force Seokwoo to sit there, you know,' Sanghyuk suggests, perched on the arm of the sofa — the jacket of his suit lying somewhere in the apartment, his socks in its pockets. Victory, spelled out in many ways, clinging to him today.

He makes a comment that Seokwoo's too tall, sparks up a debate on the subject, Seokwoo being the only one arguing that he isn't, saying they're simply small and narrow-minded — but he ends up sitting on the floor nevertheless, too tall to sit on the arm of the armchair Chanhee has claimed as his, bullied out of the couch by Juho.

'You're all awful,' he mutters, but he caves in anyway when Youngbin asks him to tell them how he got a lead on his recent case at the prison, forgets all about it when Juho praises him. Grudges — he has never really excelled at holding them.

But the stars of the night are Sanghyuk and Youngkyun, the medias' heroes _(until we do one bad step and they decide to hate us,_ Sanghyuk corrects), and the pride of their group, and most of the evening is spent praising them, and unknowingly retelling the parts of a trial they would rather forget — trying to find other subjects to talk about when the realisation hits them, because a win remains tainted no matter how successful it is.

'You really did well,' Youngbin says, after finally getting to hear how Youngkyun arrested the criminal, patting Youngkyun on his cast, and they all echo him, congratulating him on a job excellently done.

It's relieving, a case finally being closed, in a way that does not even belong to the happiest fairytales — it's relieving, and exhausting, the unhealthy energy that was fueling them all finally deserting their bodies, dissipating and becoming nothingness after a while, leaving them giggling at the most insignificant thing like little kids on a sleepover, looking at the world with a new perception. Like evil is gone for good, like tomorrow nothing bad can happen — they stand at the top of the world, cannot fall down from the mount they live on.

The sky is pitch black when they start leaving, one by one, Youngbin saying he has bowling tomorrow, then Juho standing up and simply explaining he's tired. Chanhee feels himself zoning out, just a little, while Sanghyuk and Youngkyun discuss and debate something, and he's pulled out of his torpor by a weight on his knee — Seokwoo looking up, as if he knows Chanhee is slowly falling asleep.

'Are you tired?' he asks, softly. His voice a whisper, and Chanhee finds it very pleasant, like a blanket, a source of warmth and safety.

Chanhee nods, gives him a smile — is suddenly reinvigorated by being woken up this gently, and stands up, announces he'll head home.

'Head home? You want me to give you a ride?'

Chanhee shakes his head, declines Sanghyuk's offer as he puts on his coat.

'I'll take the tube.'

'The tube? Are you sure about that?'

Seokwoo is standing right next to Sanghyuk, perplexed, arms crossed — like a cop would, recalculating all the statistics of crimes that happened in the subway the past few years, reaching the conclusion it's dangerous. 

'It's fine,' Chanhee says, ignoring the frown Sanghyuk is making — lawyers, drivers: out of touch with everyone else's lives.

But Chanhee's arguments of _it's all good_ and _I take the tube every day_ do not make unanimity, and it's with Seokwoo by his side that he heads to the station, spending the first five minutes of the walk listening to his sermon.

'You never know what could happen,' he says, half of his face wrapped up in his scarf.

Chanhee rolls his eyes — really thinks, and wants to say, that him walking him to the station is not lessening his chances of getting attacked at all — but there's the occasion to tease him, so he changes his plan, and does just that, tells him that indeed, with a giant like him by his side, nothing can happen to him.

He expects a frown, pursed lips and one, two curses — but instead Seokwoo hums in agreement.

'Indeed.'

Unexpected, and not quite as fun as him pretending he's offended — it creates a silence, one Chanhee doesn't know how to fill (should he point out he's accepted the joke? should he divert the conversation from this?). But it doesn't really matter: soon Seokwoo is talking again, asking him if he often takes the subway at this time of the day, going off on a tangent when Chanhee mentions selling his car when he moved out of his first apartment.

'My aunt did that too,' he says, tells her story to Chanhee. Listens when Chanhee replies and goes off on a tangent himself, and the conversation continues, takes unseen paths but is fruitful nonetheless, and Chanhee is almost sad when they reach the station, wishing they could talk more.

'Here's me,' he says, a few meters away from the turnstiles, ticket in hand and heart aching just a little.

It takes them a few minutes to part ways — Seokwoo doesn't seem to want to leave, and Chanhee doesn't have it in his heart to depart first. It's stupid, makes him feel like an immature high schooler, thinking he can defeat time and that nothing can get to him — when everything is chewing away at him, bit by bit, leaving him just as mortal as everyone else.

'Text me when you get home, alright?' Seokwoo finally says — asks of him, worry dripping just a little in his eyes.

Chanhee says yes — does text him once he's home, still fully clothed and his front door not even closed. Gets a reply as he's getting into bed, the sleepiness that had left while he was with Seokwoo finally sinking its claws back into his shoulders, holding on to him until he capitulates, and he barely has the time to reply, barely manages to type an answer before drowning into a familiar bottomless ocean of dreams and nightmares, giving his last breath to Hypnos and his children.

_Good night to you too. Sleep well._

**⁂**

The trees are blooming, petals falling and letting the wind carry them away, landing into wishful hands and unwilling hair — Juho takes out the pink and yellow ones that somehow managed to set up home in Chanhee's hair, tells him to make a wish as he holds them close to his heart.

'No,' Chanhee says, throwing the petals in the bin by his desk, and adds two paper cups and a file to them throughout the morning. 

'I don't get it,' Youngbin says (tries to articulate) later, in between two bites of salmon, 'Why are they going after you like this?'

Chanhee shrugs, looks at his broccolis sadly.

'Who knows. Maybe I fucked up before this case and they have a good reason not to trust me.'

'As if!' Juho waves his fork around. 'I'd know if you did!'

That's what Chanhee wants to believe, too, but Juho and Youngbin's kind words do not comfort him as much as he wishes they did, and he spends most of his afternoon looking through every case of central 7, verifying each of them and trying to find where he made the mistake that now has two officers doubting his most recent autopsy, and telling him they'd appreciate if Juho double-checked his conclusion.

'It seems everything is fine, though,' he says to Youngkyun later, when he's back at his apartment and much too bothered about his case to be able to sleep peacefully, thinking Youngkyun might be able to tell him what the problem is. 'But without the corpses, I can't really double-check my past autopsies.'

He feels awful, like he's been betrayed by his own self — even though Youngkyun tells him there's no need for him to doubt himself, even though he knows he did his latest autopsy perfectly.

'Do I have, like, a bad reputation, at the station, or what?' he finds himself asking, voice pathetically small and frail, looking down at the river and partly wondering what would happen if he just drowned himself in it — would the two officers regret doubting him?

'Of course not,' Youngkyun immediately answers — somewhere, on the road near his flat, a truck honks. 'You're one of the best. Do you really think you'd still be there if you weren't doing your job correctly?'

That's a good argument — Chanhee repeats it to his own reflection later, when he's brushing his teeth and still trying to put two and two together.

But in the end, he still bends and complies to the officers' request, and accepts to be double-checked.

'You shouldn't do that,' Juho says, as he puts on a mask, and he tells him it's the first, and last time, he does this.

'They don't have the right to doubt you,' Seokwoo, brought up to speed by Youngkyun, adds when Chanhee comes to drop a file to space 12, to Sally and Youngho. He's wearing a black turtleneck, somehow reminding Chanhee of the one Juho bought for Inseong months ago — he wonders, in-between nodding and listening to Seokwoo argue that he's a professional and everybody trusts him, how he would look in a brown one.

'If Juho's conclusion is the same as mine, then it'll prove I was right, no?'

Seokwoo pokes him in the forehead, sighs.

'That's not what this is about,' he says. 'By letting them command, you're accepting to be controlled, and doubted.'

Chanhee doesn't see the problem — or well, he does, but if he's good at doing his job, then there's no fright to be had when he gets double-checked, isn't it?

'It's about pride,' Seokwoo continues. 'Don't you have pride?'

Chanhee shrugs, looks down at his hands, at Seokwoo's desk, covered in papers and paper cups.

'Not to that extent.'

'You should,' Seokwoo whispers, and he pokes his hand when their eyes meet, gently, softly. 'You ought to.'

**⁂**

_Many murders in Malibu_ is interesting, rather fun to read, and it's just as Chanhee picks it up after doing the dishes that the telephone rings.

There's been a murder, the officer at the end of the line tells him, and he's asked to come examine the victim. Sighing, Chanhee puts his book back on his couch, and gets ready to leave.

The sky is grey, heavy with clouds when the police car sent to pick him up collects him, and rain starts to fall when they reach the crime scene, large droplets crashing against the windows of the car, dripping down the umbrella an officer gives to Chanhee.

'Right here,' he says, and Chanhee prays the victim isn't lying on the ground, prays that if they are the people handling the case managed to collect all the evidence he might need.

Thankfully, they aren't: lying on the floor of a restaurant in-between modest and pricey, cold as ice and the top of their skull smashed open. It's almost too easy: no trouble to know the victim's identity; no apparent blur of his body temperature; tracks of blood indicating he was dragged. Clothes, that were clearly put on after the murder, and two witnesses, that declare having seen someone leave the restaurant in a hurry. Only the murderer is missing, panicked and probably easy to trick into a confession — Chanhee can already see the end of it, banality ruining lives and dying unremembered.

He comes home early enough to be able to make himself some chicken, and he reaches the third act of _Many murders in Malibu_ as he's eating dinner — goes to sleep early and dreams of a beach where the corpse of his newest victim lies here, there and everywhere; wakes up to his phone ringing at 4am.

_Wrong number,_ the person who called him says as soon as he asks what is going on, and he struggles to fall back asleep, images of glitter and smiles he barely remembers slipping into his thoughts; crashing against an ancient memory of warmth, holding him by the wrist and bringing him closer, loosely embracing his waist and leaving too soon, becoming cold and oblivion — the emptiness they are keeps him awake, mocks him as he tosses and turns, hides under his covers — clings to him and becomes one with his dream, his victim suddenly hugging him, cuddling him, not letting him go as his alarm rings, as he tries to come up for air —

He's twenty minutes late when he arrives to work, and he's unable to shake his nightmare off his mind until the evening when, tired, dearly looking for fugue, he takes a sleeping pill, and drowns into the perfect void it creates for him.

The case is closed within the week.

**⁂**

Seokwoo is sitting on _his_ side of the couch, where Chanhee usually curls up to read books — he's laughing at something Sanghyuk is saying, some macabre joke he heard on the TV, the twist making him stop pouring drinks, too hilarious to properly dose out the alcohol Youngbin brought from his recent trip to the Seychelles. 

'The view is amazing,' Youngkyun says, leaning against the rail of the balcony, looking at the river and the buildings behind, the world living beneath his feet. Juho stands right next to him, unable to stop making sounds of amazement, taking pictures to send them to Inseong.

Chanhee smiles, bows and thanks him — calls it his pride as he joins the pair, letting the sun warm him, the wind caress his face and play with his hair.

'Heaven on earth,' he says, jokingly — meaning it in his heart of hearts, knowing life would be all kinds of different if he didn't live here. There is a certain peace in sharing something beloved with friends, in allowing them to discover a side of yourself they have never met — in realising they appreciate this part of you too, and being able to let yourself be loved.

The apartment, just like Youngkyun's, unlike Youngbin's house and Juho's loft, isn't quite big enough for all of them to fit in and navigate — but they make it work, Youngbin and Juho sitting at the bar as they eat, Sanghyuk sprawled on the floor while Youngkyun sits near the window, in the little seat Chanhee bought last year, where he now usually falls asleep when he gazes down at the wonders of the world. They're loud — probably just a little too much for the neighbours to be able to nap peacefully — but Chanhee enjoys the noise, revels in it and misses it when they start leaving, Sanghyuk bidding them goodbye at an earlier time than usual to get ready for a trial, taking Youngkyun, behind on house chores, with him.

'I almost wish this were my apartment,' Juho says to Youngbin, as the night falls and finally allows the world to be something else than disgustingly hot; what is probably going to be his last drink of the night in hand, watching as Youngbin takes a video of the scenery.

'Don't kid yourself,' Chanhee laughs, offering them the remnants of the cake Seokwoo made, smiling when Youngbin takes a slice of it. 'You'd cry without all the space you need for your figurines.'

_True,_ Juho says, and he's telling them about this new figurine of Ballister the Pirate that will release in December when something cracks up in the sky, far away and bathing everything in red for a few moments — Juho stops talking, and they all look up, watch as the fireworks explode and give colours to the night.

'Seokwoo,' Youngbin calls, 'it's started!'

'I know, I know.'

Seokwoo emerges from the bathroom, navigates throughout the messy living-room to join them — his face goes blue, purple, then a bright orange as a massive firework cracks, explodes and gives way to five smaller ones; radiates happiness when he witnesses the spectacle, standing just under the doorframe, almost as tall as it. It has Chanhee's heart beating faster, worrying about him knocking his head on the doorframe and fainting, bleeding, getting hurt; Chanhee gestures to the empty space at his right, invites him to fully take part to the scene as a spectator. But Seokwoo smiles, shakes his head — declines the offer and remains there; not quite out of the apartment but not really in either, leaning against the doorframe, watching the freedom of the country burst in the sky and shower its citizens with pride and joy. Glancing at Chanhee as it goes on and on, colours painting and illuminating the heavens and Juho and Youngbin whispering, talking, marvelling at everything happening — smiling as they lock eyes, and shining brighter than the priciest roman candle — _pretty,_ he mouths, and Chanhee, a little bewitched, nods, agrees. Doesn’t really pay attention to the explosions of colours occupying the sky — Seokwoo is stealing the show from the fire flowers amazing the bystanders — is becoming a scenery of his own, messy hair falling in his eyes, skin glowing underneath the lights, eyes shining as he takes everything in.

He’s always been beautiful, always — but, in this very specific instant, Chanhee is stricken by his features, by how familiar he looks here — yet how new he seems to be, lashes suddenly catching Chanhee’s attention, sharp cheekbones suddenly coming into light, a warmth Chanhee has come to know suddenly filling up his balcony, his chest. As if a veil had been covering Chanhee’s eyes all this time, and its hold was loosening, and it fell, faded away as it landed in the river underneath — as if he had never truly seen Seokwoo, and was only now seeing him in all his glory.

Seokwoo glows, brighter than anything, and Chanhee sees, recognises something he hasn't seen in a long time — a sunflower tilting as it reaches for warmth, blooming as the sun kisses it — breathing in, and filling his world with wonders.

Unknowingly being enough, and charming the deepest corners of his soul — grazing it for just a second, and leaving Chanhee budding.

**⁂**

A new club, _The Charleston,_ opens in the south-west of the city. It glows when night falls, and laughter emanates from its insides as it starts living.

Chanhee promises himself to visit — goes once, and comes back empty-handed, sober; alone.

Remembers the eyes on him as he brushes his teeth, the propositions whispered to him as he draws the curtain to his bedroom — wonders if he is doing the right thing as he gets into bed, turns to what he's seen being _the other side of the bed_. Tentatively scoots over and settles there, and closes his eyes, learns to be familiar again with what once belonged to him.

He doesn't dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is already all done, so i'll be updating throughout the following days. you're welcome to give this baby love, though.


	2. Chapter 2

He's had feelings for Seokwoo for six months now. Probably had them before he realised it, but love is something Chanhee hasn't dabbled in in a while — and even when he did, he never excelled at feelings, at confessing them and being confessed to, at knowing what to say and aiming for the right time. Perhaps it was youth, perhaps it is simply love — either way, Chanhee has never been good at seeing what is in front of him, has always been terrible at listening to his heart and understanding it. Is probably even worse at it now, years later and all practice gone out the window — but still, his heart likes Seokwoo, desires to be his and be loved back.

It's everything he's ever known and yet nothing he's ever felt before all at once: he yearns and covets, wants more and allows himself to daydream about it once in a while. And this is where the catch lies: his heart beats, and wants, but softly, delicately, whispering rather than roaring, quietly dreaming rather than beating loudly. He wants, desires to love fully — but only daydreams of being loved once in a while, as if he were considering buying something, as if he had the choice.

He does want to be loved, has thought and dreamt and yearned for it for a long, long time; but when he thinks of Seokwoo, it's as if the world under his feet changes, becomes something new entirely, and he discovers parts of a garden he had never seen before, that only now see the light of the day, the light of the sun.

He wishes to hold Seokwoo's hand, but to let him know he is his rather than to be guided — wishes to see his smile, but only to know him well and happy rather than to be the reason behind it — wishes to be able to whisper sweet nothings to him — to kiss him — to be able to touch him endlessly — only to praise him and nothing more; to be able to witness his happiness simply because it is what fulfills him. He does not desire to be a pillar to him — simply wants him to lead the life he yearns to live, and bloom like he deserves to.

The desire to be comforted; to be held; to be loved and cherished, is secondary to this — do not bother him as he thinks of Seokwoo, do not bother his sleep at night, do not haunt him as he comes home to an empty apartment. He only wishes to support Seokwoo, and see him succeed. Probably would not care, if it came to his own detriment.

And sometimes Chanhee wonders, if that isn't worse.

⁂

Sanghyuk is channel-hopping, the anticipation getting to him and his brand-new blue suit, the tiny waves sewn upon the pants shining as he shakes his leg. Juho lays a hand on his thigh, whispers a  _ shhh _ and tells him everything is fine.

'He's gonna arrive soon,' Inseong adds, smiling softly at Sanghyuk — Chanhee, who isn't feeling an ounce of anxiousness, still hears his heartbeat slow down, lean back and breathe.

How he once got jealous of him, back when he’d just arrived and loneliness was doing its yearly visit to him, is beyond him: Inseong fits perfectly, right by Juho's side, supporting his words and in return having his own supported, beaming and making Juho shine brighter, better. He's kind, almost angelic — just like Juho himself, and Chanhee thinks it is impossible for him to imagine a better piece of puzzle to fit Juho's, a better match to his heart.

The doorbell rings — in come Seokwoo and Youngkyun, hurrying into the living-room and giving their coats, shoes to Juho, so he can hide them somewhere Youngbin will not see.

'Good afternoon,' Seokwoo says. He's wearing a red turtleneck — looks good in it, different than in his black one but still very, very pretty.

He smiles as he sits down next to Chanhee, slightly leaning towards him as he whispers he and Youngkyun were stuck on the highway, because Youngkyun  _ loves _ driving on the highway and always seems to forget taking it rather than the country roads means spending ten to twenty minutes stuck in traffic.

'He doesn't even have his license yet,' he grumbles as Sanghyuk and Youngkyun start to discuss driving preferences, and he barely has time to roll his eyes before he’s ushered off the couch by Juho, the doorbell ringing.

'He's here!' Juho whisper-screams, master of stating the obvious, and he shoves them all into the WC, the first room he can think of.

'Oh, god,' Sanghyuk mutters just as Juho closes the door, resting his head against the wall. 'I hope Youngbin doesn't have to use the john. That would be a different kind of surprise.'

They don't have the opportunity to laugh: the front door opens, Youngbin greets Juho and Inseong. He's rather cheerful, judging from his voice — but then again, Chanhee thinks, so is probably anyone getting promoted.

And cheerful indeed he is, smiling from ear to ear when the door of the toilet flings open (courtesy of a fed-up, impatient Sanghyuk) and reveals them to light, his smile widening as they congratulate him.

'You didn't,' he says as Inseong hands him a rather heavy gift, just the right amount of emotional for them to remember and tease him for months, 'you didn't.'

'Of course we did,' Chanhee replies once the shiny, glittery, very ugly (but totally Youngbin's style) bowling ball has been unpacked, and Youngbin is hugging it tightly. 'We can't let you go without a gift.'

Youngbin grumbles, says that they're all being dramatic.  _ I'm moving two floors up!  _ he keeps repeating throughout the afternoon, and the evening as they stay for dinner, takeouts ordered and picked up by Youngkyun and Juho — but everyone ignores him, mourns his loss as if he were moving to a faraway country.

'You're all dramatic,' he concludes as he slurps up the remaining noodles in his tray. 'I love you all.'

It's cheesy, it's stupid — it's touching, Youngbin hugging them one by one, then suffocating as they all hug him back as one; being unable to stop smiling even as they part. Contaminating them all, and leaving them happier than before, feeling as though they've reached the summit of ecstasy.

But Chanhee knows — as he stares out the window and gazes at the city lights, the city life passing by, silence, peace, reigning in the car and in his heart — it is only a feeling, and there are higher summits lying ahead.

⁂

'Oh, come  _ on,  _ now.'

The girl at the bus stop, the only other soul courageous enough to brave the snow and the wind carrying it, chuckles as her interlocutor replies to her, and Chanhee shivers, doesn't even feel the warmth of her laugh. It's cold, probably under zero degrees; much, much too cold to go out at seven o'clock, but Chanhee has forgotten his book at work, and he Cannot wait until tomorrow to know the end of  _ Baby Steps  _ — he has only eight chapters left, and he desperately wants to know who the murderer is _.  _ Technically already knows who it is, but he hasn't quite figured out how they managed to travel back in time, and how they managed to kill the twin the trip down memory lane created. Mysteries — he rubs his hands as he enters the bus that stops before him, excitedly dreams up a cosy evening as the vehicle starts again.

The air feels even colder when the bus drops him off a few minutes away from the centre, and he's shivering a little too obviously when he finally reaches his destination, ashamed of how cold he is when everyone around him seems to be just fine, hurrying past the secretaries' desks and the people working the night shift, discussing with a few day employees about to leave. 

The lift is broken, and Chanhee wonders what happened between the time he left and now, smiles briefly when the thought of Eddie probably being the one having to handle this technical deficiency crosses his mind. However he'll solve it, it probably won't be fast enough, and will leave the lift in a state worse than before — Chanhee can already hear the complaints of Juho and Youngbin.

He's stuck in a mental conversation between the two of them as he climbs the stairs, Juho muttering that Eddie is probably the person who broke the lift, Youngbin sighing and exclaiming that  _ right, that's just Eddie's type! _ when he almost walks into someone, and almost, almost loses his footing. Doesn't — immediately grips the railing and hangs onto it while he recovers his balance — is held back by a hand on his chest, securely keeping him from falling prey to gravity.

'Steady,' Seokwoo says, a lot softer than necessary, and warmth; a blush, that so rarely embarrasses Chanhee, that he so rarely feels, creeps up and most certainly paints his cheeks a bright red. Chanhee prays he can blame it on the weather — prays the sudden deafening sound of his heart beating is a figment of his imagination.

'Sorry.'

Seokwoo smiles, says he shouldn't be.

'It's my fault,' he says, 'I wasn't looking either.'

'Lost in your thoughts?'

_ Just a little,  _ Seokwoo confesses, and he ends up accompanying Chanhee to his office, explaining he has a stakeout later tonight, is anxious about it.

'Big case?' Chanhee asks as he unlocks the drawer of his desk, finally retrieving what he came for.

Seokwoo leans against the wall, shrugs. Suddenly looks like he has a lot on his mind and in his heart. Chanhee nibbles on his bottom lip — wants to inquire about it, his thoughts and everything else. Feels like he shouldn't —

Doesn't.

But it doesn't matter.

'I don't know,' Seokwoo whispers. Sighs when Chanhee comes closer, rubs his eyes, his temples. He looks tired, suddenly — physically and mentally, appearing older than he is, aching quietly, silently. 'I don't know.'

'Want to talk about it?'

He looks up, gives Chanhee a small, sad smile when their eyes meet — now seems much younger, an innocent soul who does not know how the world works, who doesn't deserve to feel the pain it stores in its deepest, darkest pits.

'I don't know.'

Chanhee tilts his head, kind adult who does not wish to dig.

'It's either yes or no, you know.'

Seokwoo nods — mutters he knows. Doesn't add anything for a moment, simply smiles, sighs — then he straightens himself up, is neither older or younger, simply himself and nothing more.

'You going home?' Then, after Chanhee hums in agreement, 'I give you a ride and I tell you what's on my mind?'

It's asked shyly — is passed off as insignificant and banal, a gaze that doesn't quite meet Chanhee's, that looks here and there instead. Unease, and unfamiliarity, seeping into the question — trying to appear emotionless, as if the question (request) did not matter, when it is dear to Seokwoo's heart. It's so — transparent, obvious —  _ honest,  _ Chanhee thinks, impossibly honest, without meaning to. The desire to be heard, listened to and understood pouring out of every attempt to hide it — extending a needing hand, and silently begging for help.

Chanhee takes it.

'Sure.'

Chanhee gets a text just as he's entering the metro station, and he spends half of his trip to work thinking up the perfect reply, erasing and rewording everything three times. Seokwoo replies seconds after he's answered — something that always feels good, that is even more satisfactory when it comes from him, and Chanhee falls into step with him, decides his answers do not have to be proofread a zillion times.

The stakeout went well, Seokwoo says — mostly boring, but it was worth it: their suspect has an alibi, and he has a new lead.

_ The neighbour might have done it, _ he texts just as Chanhee enters the centre.

Chanhee's reply is unanswered for several hours; and a new dead comes up; what appears to be a suicide in a rural town one hour away from the city — the conversation picks up around nine o'clock in the evening, as Chanhee comes home and procrastinates taking a shower, too tired to even eat.

_ You should eat,  _ Seokwoo texts him when Chanhee retells him his day, omitting the looks he'd been given as he walked into the house of the woman who'd hung herself, the unease he'd felt as the local inspectors watched him do his job —  _ take your shower, your meal, and go to sleep. _

Chanhee doesn't want to — wants to pass out like a teenager after a mediocre day spent at school without his best friend, wants to ignore everything he has to do and simply curl up in his bed, close his eyes and imagine things that will never happen, crime not existing anymore and time travel being discovered. Wants to say no to Seokwoo and argue he just wants to sleep, wants to reply  _ make me _ to Seokwoo's text. Sadly cannot act like a child, has to be mature and take care of himself.

He takes a long, long shower and eats two slices of bread, pitiful rebellion he doesn't push to the very end, and he texts Seokwoo as he curls up and settles in bed, sighing as soon as he is comfortable.

Surprisingly, he only falls asleep after Seokwoo bids him good night. Closes his eyes and allows himself to fantasm, just once: imagines that Seokwoo is right next to him, where he once used to sleep; head buried in his pillow, and shoulders, back rising and falling slowly, steadily, thoughts belonging to Morpheus and his siblings — is muttering  _ good night _ to his ear rather than texting it, arms wrapped around his waist and his chest right against Chanhee's back, the kiss he plants on his nape a promise he'll be there when Chanhee wakes up.

The bed is empty when Chanhee's alarm rings — but there is another text from Seokwoo, sent three hours after Chanhee fell asleep.

_ I have to buy Youngkyun a book for his driving classes; you help me pick and I tell you all about it while we shop? _

The sun is shining, high in the sky — Chanhee looks down at the world as he takes his coffee, happiness blossoming in his chest.

_ Sure. _

⁂

Juho is looking at him, his gaze piercing him, as if he can see right through him — it's unusual, and slightly bothersome, especially when Chanhee's bent over an open chest and about to extricate his victim's heart to weigh it.

'What?' he says, not looking up, knowing if he does Juho will most certainly discuss a matter he knows too much about for much too long, will take his attention away from his autopsy.

'Nothing.'

But the tone means everything but that.

Chanhee waits, until he's done and they're back in their shared office, sharing a much deserved meal, cookies from the bakery near Juho's place — until he has nothing to distract him from the heavy, heavy glances Juho is throwing his way, and he's too tired to even care about probably getting an unwanted, but perhaps much needed, reality check.

'Say it.' Chanhee bites on his cookie, locks eyes with Juho. 'Whatever it is you have to say. You've been holding these beans in your mouth for way too long. Come on, spill them over.'

Juho doesn't, not immediately — keeps the beans in his mouth for a few more seconds, chews them along with his cookie. Irritatingly stares at Chanhee as he does so, but eventually opens his mouth. Has Chanhee wishing he didn't, because the single word that exits it is enough for him to know Juho  _ knows. _

'Seokwoo,' he says, as if he were a judge and this were Chanhee's sentence for stealing his classmate's sweets when he was eight and held a grudge against her.

Chanhee stops eating — stops thinking and breathing, perhaps even dies for a few minutes. It's not possible: there is no way his heart is beating in such conditions, when the sky seems to have cracked and fallen on his head, when the world he thought was stable is spinning beneath his feet. When what he thought was superbly hidden, and not at all obvious, has been found out.

He swallows, tries to think things over. Juho knows him, after all — and he himself knows he might have been having feelings for Seokwoo for what could be considered a 'long' time (however people that discuss such things differentiate short from long from middle ground).

Chanhee clears his throat, tries his best to appear composed. Has the fleeting thought that if Juho could tell he likes Seokwoo, he probably knows he's currently losing his shit.

'Yeah,' he mutters, much weaker than he'd like to sound, a little more ashamed than he wishes he was — it is his life, after all, and his heart has never been one to ask for advice from others. 

This is the decision he takes, a few hours later, as he and Juho are putting on their coats, and his pride; the part of his mind that always wants to stand on its own, take over, have concluded it is right, and they do not care — he lays his hand on the door handle, and looks Juho in the eye.

'Seokwoo,' he says, and this time, his voice allows his pride, his stubbornness to stand tall. 'What about it?'

Juho grins, amused — like he knows everything Chanhee doesn't, like he could tell him how it goes and ends, but won't, just because if he did, Chanhee would know too, and what Juho feeds on is denseness, along with surprise.

'Nothing,' he replies.

And this time, he means it.

⁂

A few kids pass by Youngkyun and Chanhee, laughing as they run, huge glasses on their noses threatening to fall with each of their steps — they do not care at all, accelerate and turn at a corner, probably towards the toys parts of the market.

'It's really nice of you,' Youngkyun declares, left hand still in his pocket while his right one now holds the plastic bag in which his book lays, jacket open wide as if it were summer rather than early spring. 'Thank you.'

Chanhee shrugs, smiles, doesn't quite manage to take the comment objectively, pleased that he and Youngkyun have found another common ground to discuss and exchange on.

'It's nothing,' he says, 'really.'

He adds that Youngkyun can call, text him, knock on his door whenever he wants to talk about a book, that he will most definitely always be willing to lend an ear to that.

'And everything else you want to talk about,' he adds after a few seconds, realising he might sound like he doesn't want to discuss anything else than books with Youngkyun.

Youngkyun glances at him, smiles as he turns his head and looks around, like he always does when he's pleased but thinks others cannot see it.

'Well, you're awfully kind today. Who did that to you?'

'You complimented me first,' Chanhee says (jabs Youngkyun in the ribs anyway, just to make sure he knows he won't stand for the slander of his character).

Seokwoo is waiting for them outside the market, in front of the post office. Wearing his usual brown suede jacket, watching the people that pass by him, aware of everything around him — analysing and filing everything away, as if he might need it later on. A cop habit, Chanhee thinks, and he represses a smile when their gazes meet, the x-rays dissecting everyone not quite sparing him, eyeing him up and down before Seokwoo smiles at him.

'Shopping session turned out fulfilling?'

'Damn right it did,' Youngkyun says.

He tells Seokwoo about his (Chanhee's) latest finding as they walk to the station, rambling a little more than usual about the genre of the book, what he'd like to read, what the man who takes the same driving classes as him recommended him.

'He said he loves  _ Love around midnight in the Supermarket,' _ he says, as they stop at a red light.

'Oh, I like that one.' 

Something Chanhee didn't know about Seokwoo — he likes romance novels.

_ Only when they're not too dramatic,  _ Seokwoo declares when Chanhee inquires about it, after leaving Youngkyun’s new found book at the station, as they head to the police car.

'I don't want to cry or lose sleep over them,' he says, looking at Chanhee over the headrest of his passenger seat — while Youngkyun pulls out of the parking lot, carefully, slowly making his way to the main road.

Understandable, Chanhee replies, and they discuss books until Youngkyun stops in front of Chanhee's apartment building, the conversation wrapping up a little too early, cutting Seokwoo off in the middle of a rant about a mystery book, leaving Chanhee unsatisfied — wishing they'd have more time to talk, wishing  _ he  _ had more time, to listen to Seokwoo talk and ask for his opinion on books, his favourite genres and authors — to simply listen to him speak, ramble and go off on tangents, to hear a piece of his mind he hasn't yet met. To discover a side of him and watch as it softly leaves its cocoon of security, learns to trust him and flutters its wings — considers him a sky willing and able to carry him, and takes flight, lets Chanhee be the wind taking him away.

Chanhee wishes — wishes everything would go his way, as planned — wishes everything were simple and fit his hopes, desires, needs. Knows it won't ever happen.

Curls up on his seat by the window, wrapped up in a blanket, and dozes off, replaying everything Seokwoo was talking about in the car, soothed by the memory of his voice — forgetting everything about Hypnos, and falling instead into a suggestion of Seokwoo's embrace. The sweetest slumber: warmth kisses each part of his body, and holds his imaginary tightly — puts him to bed, and, just for a while, stays with him.

Clings to him when he wakes, and pulls him down —  _ five more minutes, _ it whispers.

Chanhee complies.

⁂

Sanghyuk is making sounds as he complains about the italian restaurant down the street,  _ euerghs _ and  _ ughs  _ and  _ ews. _

'Simmer down,' Chanhee tells him. He presses down on the knot above his shoulder blade — slightly pulls him back when he tilts forward, absorbed by the description of a particularly disgusting meal of pasta.

'It was outrageous!'

Youngbin hums at Sanghyuk's wise conclusion, asks him the name of the restaurant so he knows where to never go. Carries on the conversation as Chanhee massages Sanghyuk, undoing every knot bending over his desk has been creating, the ones his usual sport sessions haven't been able to loosen.

It takes Chanhee a good fifteen minutes, Sanghyuk always doing this and that, moving as Youngkyun brings out the cake Inseong and Juho bought to congratulate him on getting his license, constantly trying to stand up, forgetting he's being tended to.

'He's an active one,' Seokwoo says with a wink when Chanhee is finally done; getting himself a glass of water in the kitchen. He's looking out the window, drink in hand and an unread magazine in the other, the olive tee-shirt he's wearing complimenting his skin tone, and its loose collar catching Chanhee's eyes a handful of times as they start talking. His skin looks — incredibly soft, and Chanhee has a hard time, harder than usual, trying to focus on something else, to not imagine how smooth it would feel underneath his fingers, wandering here and there. Has to constantly bring himself back to the conversation, to focus on the words exiting Seokwoo’s mouth rather than the way his lips part to let them out — struggles, a little, but Seokwoo doesn’t notice, and time flies as he speaks, as Chanhee stares — Sanghyuk calls them over, rambles about them hiding away.

'Taeyang is about to show up, and you two are over there discussing private things in your private world!'

Chanhee completely ignores the look Juho is giving him, laughs as Seokwoo grimaces — feels fireworks coursing through his veins when Seokwoo pulls him towards him, hand on his shoulder gently holding him prisoner, playing with Chanhee's tee-shirt as Seokwoo retorts Sanghyuk is  _ just jealous, so jealous and envious he's becoming a green bean. _

'That is awful,' Sanghyuk replies, judges Seokwoo for his comeback — doesn't get to say more because Taeyang finally arrives, last but most awaited invitee.

He's pretty: a gorgeous smile he gives to everyone as he greets them, a joyful laugh he graces them with as Sanghyuk breaks the ice — a gentle gaze directed at Youngkyun when Taeyang thinks none is looking, a familiarity he has with him that even Seokwoo has never been gifted with — how strange, Chanhee thinks as he watches the pair interact, as he senses the awkward but tender thread of love tangling them together and pulling them closer; how love is obvious when it is knocking on someone else's door, how sweet it is when it is being witnessed — he wonders, as Seokwoo laughs and leans towards him, as he whispers something to him and rolls his eyes when he's called out for it —

'This world of yours, Kim Seokwoo!!'

If that feeling could ever cross someone’s mind when they look at him and Seokwoo. Probably not — or at the very least, not reciprocated like the way it is with Youngkyun and Taeyang: if there are signs of Seokwoo and Chanhee inching closer, perhaps even meeting and osculating once, it has all been done by Chanhee. His feelings are his, belong to him and only him — are one-sided, and thus unfulfilled, reaching for a sun they cannot obtain — if there is a gentle thread linking Chanhee to Seokwoo, Chanhee is the one who created it, is the one who pulls on it — is the one who, perhaps, gazes lovingly at Seokwoo, who is letting in Seokwoo where others have never been allowed. The world that could belong to them, that such thread might create — it has all been built by Chanhee, and is not tangible, does not link the both of them fairly.

A fictional world — Seokwoo turns his back to him to make a more convincing riposte, has Taeyang laughing loudly —

Leaning forward to second Seokwoo, Chanhee lets it go.

⁂

The fan is on, loudly blowing away the papers on the bed, gracing Chanhee's forehead with some wind every time it hits its 75° angle on the left — Chanhee groans, rolls on his side painfully, tries to focus on what he Has to do, what he Should be doing to motivate himself. Technically, it's not much: simply cleaning his room, the Wardrobe of Shame he hasn't opened or even glanced at since he moved into his flat — containing boxes upon boxes he hasn't opened since he left university (or even started it), old classes, textbooks, toys and books he had completely forgotten about until recently, when he'd banged his knee against the wardrobe so hard one of the doors had opened, revealing a few old magazines he had bought when he was in his second year of university. Memories — Chanhee had promised himself to go through the entire piece of furniture when he'd have time and now, two months later, on leave for a few days, already bored and unable to do anything outside because of the scorching heat of the summer, Chanhee is torturing himself, pushing himself to his archiving limits (which is, frankly, not a lot).

He's done well: has already gone through three boxes out of eight — but his tee-shirt is slightly sticky, and he's tired of the boxes full of lessons and classes he knows by heart now, of going through overpriced books he only opened and read out of curiosity, rather than ever being asked to use them during class.

But there isn't anything else to do: he's been napping here and there for the past two days, trying to survive the hot, hot days — trying to think about something else than the corpses this heat will leave behind, trying to tell himself he ought to rest a little. The world has to keep spinning, whether he is at work or not.

It takes him ten more minutes, to rise from the floor of his room and motivate himself yet again, but after a little while of rummaging he is once again entranced by all the memories he is rediscovering, and he's managed to go through three more boxes when the clock indicates it's time for dinner.

He doesn't have it — tells himself he'll make food later, his heart feeling just a little too tight, just a little too small for everything as he goes through the seventh box — the one that holds two of his diaries and all the pictures he took, got gifted, discreetly stole, in the past. It means old polaroids of his graduation, with people he hasn't spoken to for years; pictures he took with his family, when he went to Sri Lanka with his parents, when he was younger and still hadn't started his job, when he was still studying and trying to understand the world. Pictures (and that is when Chanhee’s heart swells up, feels much too small for everything it witnesses) of Taylor he had taken a few weeks before their breakup, when they were messing around with the polaroid his best friend had given him, and Chanhee thought he'd want to hold onto the memories of them being together. One of the few happy days, nights they'd had back then, the adult life suddenly crashing into their personalities and taking away parts of them that, at the time, defined them, made them who they were and everything they stood for. Chanhee doesn't know how to react: doesn't know if he should tear the frozen happiness into million pieces and throw them all away, or if he should keep them all preciously, as if he ever were going to love Taylor again. He isn't angry, yet nor is he regretful — he is simply distanced, has simply grown, but the nostalgia makes every memory rosier, better — pulls on his heart in a way the present never did when it was happening. As much as he doesn't care for Taylor now, he is still a part of his past — something that shaped him, even though now the remnants of the little piece of him that makes Chanhee himself are smaller than before — they remain there nevertheless, run in his blood when someone mentions strawberry pies and Halloween. Just like how the unread poetry book, property of Gun, at the bottom of the box, reminds him of times spent in the art room of building B of the university — times spent watching him paint and draw, while music played in the background and Gun quoted his favourite authors; philosophers, scientists and poets — times spent in his bed, sleeping curled up against him, naked or dressed, head on his shoulder and an arm around his waist. Times spent walking around town with him, hand in hand and laughing at things they saw, discussed — times spent arguing, crying here and there, so rare Chanhee remembers them all even now, could still list them all in chronological order.

It hurts: Chanhee's old self resurfacing, in the little note his first nameless girlfriend had given him, and that he could never find the strength to throw away — in the three dinosaur magazines Nicole had bought him throughout their relationship, and the little bone keyring she'd gifted him for his birthday — in the lonely pair of socks Seunghoon had forgotten at his place, and that he'd found too funny to burn with his letters, sharks coming up from the ankles to bite up the knees of whoever wore them — it hurts a lot, seeing who he used to be and is not anymore, bits of his past that conjure up others, that has him remembering and reminiscing, thinking about what used to matter and how he used to feel, how the world spun and how he held himself with the knowledge it would never stop for him — would never even leave him behind, because life is what happens to you rather than what you want to make of it, is simply every event from your birth to your death rather than the meaning you try to give to it. A self Chanhee isn't anymore — that was a step to the stairs of his growth, that is a building stone to who he is now — who will later only be a stone, too, a version of him that will, just like the other ones before, never last more than a fleeting while.

Somehow, selves that have him missing the past, regretting what he did, and wishing he'd acted differently — that have him reconsidering his entire life, and wondering if he would not rather be thirteen and annoyingly inconsiderate and selfish, freshly eighteen and in love, twenty one and discovering another part of the world for the first time — six years old and blissfully ignorant rather than the adult he is now, aware that everything happening is out of his control, and cannot be changed, that whatever he does will not change a single thing to his fate — that everyone is just like him, yet ultimately different, and that what he feels will never be felt by someone else, that everything that belongs to his world, that was created by him, by his thoughts, will never be someone else's, will always be his property and none else's. That in the end, he is alone, and will always be — and nothing, not even the biggest amount of money, the most fulfilling relationship, will ever change that. Being uniquely yourself by simply existing — that is the cost of being human, a cost Chanhee pays, just like everyone else.

He throws a few pictures away but keeps the prettiest ones, and the ugly ones that make him smile, that make him remember things; places the book that was once shoved under piles of papers on his bedside table, for when he feels ready to read it; tries on the socks, and realises they fit him, throws them in the laundry basket by the door; skims through the magazines and laughs at the data that is now obsolete; folds the letter and neatly tucks it under other memories that belong to the past — shuts the box and opens the eighth one, chock-full of books and other memories he'd forgotten about.

He finishes around nine o'clock, and stares happily at the now-clean inside of his wardrobe, at his boxes neatly stacked upon each other. Takes a long, cold shower and eats a small meal afterwards — goes to bed early, and falls asleep as soon as his head touches his pillow.

Somehow wakes around four o'clock, and, unable to fall back asleep, picks up the purple book of poetry that once belonged to Gun. Smiles at every poem he reads, and feels peace in his heart as he lies back down, the heat softly sticking to him, memories going back to the box they belonged to, to the heart they helped build.

_ In the loneliest corner of the world, _

_ where my soul lay, fragile and broken — _

_ In the darkest corner of the world, _

_ where paths converged and diverged without ever guiding me, _

_ I found something, that did everything I did _

_ that embraced everything I offered _

_ everything I said _

_ everything I was _

_ In the pitch black, the empty castle of my bones, the bottomless ocean — _

_ in front of a wall, while night clung to me and forbid me to gaze at anything else than its darkest coat _

_ I saw a light, and the shadow it cast before me — _

_ Myself, and every consequence of my acts _

_ — myself, in all its shades, accepting and accepted. _

_ In the loneliest corner of the world, _

_ I was loved. _

⁂

They're celebrating Seokwoo's birthday at Juho and Inseong's, because Seokwoo's apartment is much too small for the birthday celebration Youngbin has planned. Not that he's organised a lot: a cake, along with perhaps a meal, a few gifts, and laughter, jokes — but with Inseong, and more recently Taeyang, newly added to their group, Seokwoo's apartment would be much too small, and Youngbin is a man who likes to be able to navigate freely — because if you can't do so, how are you supposed to hug your best friend every five minutes?

Seokwoo is in heavens — smiling from ear to ear, thanking them all then one by one, as he pours them coffee and gives each of them a slice of cake. He's adorable — doesn't know what to do or how to act, the pink bow of Sanghyuk's gift wrapped around his head just to humour them; curled up on the cream couch as Youngbin compliments him, telling Taeyang about one of their well-known anecdotes.

'He's stupid,' Youngkyun finally concludes when Youngbin is done, 'but we wouldn't exchange him for anything in the entire world.'

Sanghyuk loudly agrees — starts recounting another anecdote and the day goes on this way, until much later when some of them are watching the TV, others are eating, discussing — and Chanhee finds Seokwoo on the balcony, gazing at the view, arms crossed on the railing. He approaches him as quietly as possible, but is sure Seokwoo hears him anyway, and simply pretends he does not — he does not react when Chanhee pulls on one of the strings of his bow, undoing it and collecting the thin silk in his hand.

'Keeping away from us, on your birthday? What's your excuse?'

Seokwoo laughs, softly, simple puff of air. He turns to face him — leans his head on his arms, closing an eye as the sun setting behind Chanhee blinds him.

'Thoughts. My old age.'

'Oh, come on.' Chanhee leans on the railing, in a way that hides the sun from Seokwoo's face. 'Eighty-seven is not That old.'

Seokwoo chuckles, says he's mean. Becomes serious again after a while, hums as he wonders how to word his thoughts.

'I'm just looking at the view,' he says. 'I'm thinking.'

_ Anything you want to share,  _ Chanhee asks, and Seokwoo shakes his head, says no — gazes at something beneath them, and Chanhee remains quiet — doesn't want to leave Seokwoo's side, and so doesn't, stays there, taking in every detail of the scenery before him, letting silence settle down between them, gently embracing their shoulders, becoming a thread that wraps itself around their pinkies and links them, quiet understanding of boundaries and intimate things, willingness to enjoy something else than the usual exchanges of words and thoughts. He looks at the neighbourhood that stretches on at the left, at the right, at the kids playing outside a few gardens away; twirling and twisting the ribbon in his hands, wrapping it around his wrists and his fingers, letting it hang by its ends.

Perhaps Seokwoo is watching: perhaps he's gazing at his hands and being piqued by their unending movements, perhaps they're in the corner of his eye as he looks at something else — as Chanhee is wrapping the ribbon around his fingers, going under, above, under, above, each finger a dozen times — Seokwoo pulls on the end that is hanging, unknowingly makes Chanhee stop altogether, hand hanging in the air, heart too frightened to be heard if it beats, breath stuck in his throat. The string around his fingers becomes a temporary prison as Seokwoo pulls just a little more, tightening the loose knots he'd created — unable to get the ribbon back, and Seokwoo gives up on this end, tentatively reaches for the other one. His fingers brush against Chanhee's, and Chanhee surrenders his ownership - lets him pull on this end too, and untangle his work. Watches as the ribbon glides down his skin and falls into the void, only held by its end — watches as it comes back to safety, securely held into the palm of Seokwoo's hand.

He watches as Seokwoo leans closer and, smiling, wraps it around  _ his _ neck, grazing his skin with the tips of his fingers as he ties it into a bow, pulling back to take in his masterpiece.

'Amazing,' he says.

The bow is just a little loose: dips slightly, its large loops resting on Chanhee's collarbones. It's much too big and too long — but Chanhee allows it to stay there, doesn't feel like taking it off.

'What's that supposed to mean?' he asks — this is one of the few silences he cannot take, that will have him bursting into a million pieces if he doesn't break it. Seokwoo staring at him wordlessly, grinning like a kid who just pulled the greatest prank — Chanhee has to stop himself from becoming a child too, falling for the prank and allowing Seokwoo to take his heart as forfeit, surrendering and promising to steal his as soon as he can.

'You're a gift.'

Chanhee's heart skips a beat, uncaring of the tease, of the smug smile on Seokwoo's face —  _ please,  _ it whispers, clinging to the wording only,  _ open me up and accept me as yours. _

And yet —

'Uncreative,' Chanhee's mouth says, presided by his mind — teasing out of habit, not falling for the obvious trap.

Seokwoo laughs — concludes the entire exchange just like that, bumping shoulders with him and telling him he's ungrateful, straightening himself up and grumbling about  _ the youth and their manners  _ as he gestures towards the living-room, inviting Chanhee to get back inside.

It's familiar once again, teases and jokes they don't mean, care wrapped up in layers of fleeting touches and  _ just kiddings  _ — Chanhee allows himself to step on the line he'd like to cross, grabs Seokwoo's waist as he tells him he's old and creaky and frankly a bother, pushes him forward as his comment is received with a loud (too loud to be sincere) gasp.

'This is  _ ageism, _ I'll sue you,' Seokwoo replies, but he lets Chanhee guide him towards the couch, only steps on his toes when Chanhee retorts he'd die before trial.

'I'm being  _ bullied!' _ he exclaims, takes Sanghyuk as witness and lawyer, but Sanghyuk barely looks up from the pictures Taeyang is showing him, mutters a  _ sure  _ he does not mean at all.

Chanhee giggles, tickles Seokwoo just to mock him — the manœuvre has Seokwoo tilting backwards and the both of them falling to the floor, Seokwoo trying to roll out of Chanhee's reach.

'No,' he breathes out — but it's all he can mutter before Juho and Youngbin come to help Chanhee, and the birthday boy's final gift is being tickled until he passes out.

When he comes home, Chanhee realises he's still wearing the ribbon — smiles as he undoes it, and ties it to the door handle of his wardrobe — the clock strikes twelve just as he steps back, and he fancies he hears Juho telling him to make a wish.

He does not — climbs into bed, and smiles as he thinks back on the day. Sighs as sleep gains him, and dreams of a colorful dinner in a faraway castle, where lines do not exist and he can pull Seokwoo towards him by the thread of untold things that links them together — where the scenery is Seokwoo himself, and Chanhee, amateur of sights and their wonders, has the right to stare forever. He wakes seconds after erasing the list of the wonders of the world, and inscribing Seokwoo's name as the only one that matters — blinking awake, he fancies he can feel Seokwoo's hand on his waist, pulling him closer to thank him with a kiss.

There are no lips that meet his, no kiss that happens — but Chanhee could swear, as he licks his lips, that he can taste August and laughter — the slightest tinge of wine Youngbin bought just for Seokwoo's birthday, and the chocolate that Seokwoo loves. He licks his lips again, and seals the fancy away. The bow remains tied to the handle of his wardrobe.

⁂

Heavy droplets of rain fall against the window — Chanhee looks as they race each other in his mind, his hot chocolate in hand.

'Crazy storm, huh?'

Youngbin stands in the corner of his eye, gazing at the world threading upon the ground and living underclouds — a couple runs towards the faraway bus stop, while a parent and their child climb into a car — Chanhee can almost hear the noises they make, the noises that surrounds them. A police car parks on the parking of the centre, and officers hurry inside the building. Chanhee takes a sip of his chocolate, and turns away from the window.

'Right.'

⁂

The pants Seokwoo is wearing are distracting, faux leather mixed with latex reflecting the lights of the lab, squeaking when he bends down and takes big steps — hugging his thighs just right, and doing wonders to his behind, calling for attention whenever Seokwoo turns around.

'I'm sorry,' Seokwoo says, shoving a tissue in the tiny pocket of the pants, 'I look like a mess.'

He really does: smudged eyeliner and glitter on his cheekbones, his hair an absolute mess — the shirt he's wearing, although now properly buttoned up, still not quite fit for work, revealing just a little too much skin, making Chanhee wish he had not come to work today. It doesn't matter how long Seokwoo is undercover, how smashed he could get (not that he ever does), what he did at the club he was at and for what purpose — he still looks gorgeous as hell, even more so with lipstick complimenting his lips and messy locks begging to be combed, the loose, half transparent shirt only made to be taken off and thrown on floors — this face of his Chanhee really wishes to kiss and touch right now, the slight huskiness of his voice sending shivers down his spine. Chanhee is a little weak, right now, thinks he could have lived without seeing this sight.

It occupies his mind all day, haunts his thoughts as he goes home and tries to go on about his evening — has him cracking when he's in the shower and has nothing else to think about, ending up closing his eyes and imagining things, letting his hands wander and act out the images playing in his mind. He pants, moans — gets just a little bit ashamed as he comes, but ends up at square one later in bed, stares at the ceiling after he's done fulfilling desires he wishes were requited, desires he wishes he didn't have to think about.

Sex and Seokwoo isn't a combo that usually crosses his mind, isn't something he often thinks about — but on rare occasions, when Seokwoo is back from an undercover job and hasn't had the time to change, when he just woke up from his nap and his eyes are all starry, when he's wearing his uniform or just a little too close, just a little too  _ present _ in Chanhee's bubble — it inevitably invades his skull, crawls into every potential crack in his brain and seeps into it, bites the thoughts there and contaminates them, turns them into little monsters that beg for life, for something to feed on.

And Chanhee doesn't have much to offer them: only has himself, and strangers he meets here and there — but none of them sounds like Seokwoo when they tell Chanhee he's gorgeous; none of them smells like him, cigarettes, mint and alcohol instead of faint strawberries and detergent; none of them feels like him, hands too small or laugh too deep, touch too rough or hugs too clingy. He doesn't know Seokwoo, not like that, but the images he's created, for when his body is desperate and he knows the object of his affection won't respond to its call, never fit what happens with others — neither do they fit his own touch, expected and familiar, experienced and almost scientific in the way it treats his own body, as if he were an overdone science project or a canteen meal appearing on the menu much too often, leaving very few opportunities to be interesting.

Overdone — but Chanhee has come to prefer it over having one night stands with strangers, unfulfilling and leaving him in a state worse than before. He's had the dangerous thought, while he was being kissed upon satin covers, while he left unsatisfied no matter what — that it seems only Seokwoo could really please him, that perhaps it would all be better with him.

Tells his mind to shut up whenever the thought crosses his mind, but poison is poison, no matter how slow it may be — it devours and kills, and Chanhee, powerless, has met an end of his here, has to admit he searches and replaces without a trace of hope. It's insane — loving someone: imagining things on your side and creating your own curses, building your own prison without ever seeing sight of the key, in a hand that does not belong to anyone but its owner, that is itself's and none else's. Chanhee hates himself for the cage he erected around him, for allowing himself to get lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts.

Cannot do anything to find his way nevertheless — he has to bend to his beliefs' rules, and accept the power they hold over him — comes only with thoughts and images, with  _ maybes  _ and _ I thinks. _ Suffers in silence, all alone — and, in his loneliest nights, wishes he could backtrack his mistakes, correct them to be able to lead a happier life.

Can't — falls asleep alone and unfulfilled, hope blossoming in his chest, refusing to be cut. His misery is the kindest rain, and fills his garden with a thousand sunflowers.

The sun is rising when Chanhee wakes — one of them imitating the other, and Chanhee leans back and closes his eyes — waits until the sun is shining upon him, and warming his chest.

Like that, the spring in his heart is almost real — the rain, temporarily gone — and Seokwoo, although not his — perhaps just a little closer, for a fleeting moment.

(Perhaps he, too, dreams of Chanhee and wants him beyond what is considered morality and purity — has a few flowers that enjoy shadow rather than light, and is willing to lie down with Chanhee there — is willing to show him pieces of him beyond Chanhee's imagination, and has dreamt of seeing Chanhee's.

Is just as hopeless as him right now — perhaps, just for a moment, their souls touch, and become one — fulfill all of their desires unknowingly, and, in their miseries, in the corners only they know — their most poisonous flowers get tangled, and remain just like that — become unable to leave each other, and bring Chanhee and Seokwoo closer without them realising.)

Chanhee looks at the sun, the glow it casts on his hand — makes a fist, and imagines Seokwoo is doing the same.

Will never be convinced by what he considers idiotic hopes and dreams — but still can find solace only in it. Sighs, and, hand just a little warmer, gets ready for another day.

Fulfilled or not — the world keeps spinning.

⁂

The dead on the autopsy table gazes at him with glassy eyes, the bullet hole right above them seeing what they cannot see anymore, glaring at Chanhee as he examines her. She's young — thirty-four years old, Sally wrote on her sheet, born on a twenty-third of March. Far too young to be lying here, but so is her son, little thing that didn't even get to reach his tenth birthday, born a tenth November.

'Only one month and two days,' Juho had said when he'd gazed at the information the officers had collected —  _ not much at all, _ Youngbin whispers later, when Chanhee is done and taking a well-deserved break in the lunchroom. His iced coffee lies on the table, warming up as Chanhee discusses the case, the wounds, the things he noticed.

'Might just be a mob job,' he finishes. It doesn't quite fit: no attempt to cover up their identities, nothing shady from the canvas the officers have done — but then again that's how the mob acts sometimes, surprisingly clean, except in a few corners, dirty enough to stop the police and experts from ever getting an actual result. Maddeningly good at what they do, and Chanhee hopes, just like he always does when he smells the foul stench of organised crime, he's simply wrong and cannot tell scents apart anymore, will soon enough be contradicted by evidence and smoking guns.

He's right, just like he always is with these cases: Youngho and Sally figure out who killed the pair and try getting confessions out of them — work on it for a few weeks, and somehow, manage to get a witness who's willing to talk. Protect him as the trial comes up, tell him to be careful at all times.

But it doesn't matter: he gets run over right in front of the court building, dies in the minutes that follow the accident — dies with the case, and Chanhee is there when Youngho is told to send it to the archives, when he sees Sally locking the file away in the bottom drawer of her desk, where all the frustratingly unsolved cases she one day wishes to close go.

'It'll be fine,' the superintendent says — but they all know it won't, know the amount of luck they need for this case to see and reach its end is far too much for them, an immoderate and disproportionate request that can never be carried out.

'The mob,' Sanghyuk mutters later, at the other end of the phone, while he's reviewing his defense for tomorrow and Chanhee is making dinner — he called to ask for advice, let the conversation become freer after getting the information he needed. 'You know how they are.'

Indeed, he does — he says so and listens to Sanghyuk go off on a tangent, doesn't try to center the conversation back to his case. Doesn't want to talk about it, or anything else — Sanghyuk hangs up soon after, skilled at figuring him out at any time and any place, without Chanhee ever lifting a finger.

He dreams of trucks rolling over countless victims that night, and bullets pursuing him the night after. Sleeps terribly or simply not at all, curled up on his seat by the window, trying to find peace in the scenery breathing before his eyes — doesn't find any, and spends an awful week, and another one just as terrible, tired and unable to rest, exhausted yet constantly shaken by the universe.

'It's our very own little hell,' Seokwoo says dryly during an evening, sat by his side on Youngkyun's couch, Taeyang and Sanghyuk's voices coming from the kitchen as they tease Youngkyun for the chicken he overcooked eons ago.

There is no solace in his words — no solace in the dark circles under his eyes, or in his tired whisper — but he rests his head on Chanhee's shoulder, giant folded this way and tucked that way so he can be somewhat comfortable next to Chanhee, sighing as he closes his eyes. There is no solace in the future, in what they should expect — a car honks as Chanhee leans his head against Seokwoo's, craning his neck and Seokwoo's skull far too hard to be comfortable underneath his; seeing despair when he attempts to close his eyes.

There is no solace in the world they live in, and their work — the back of Chanhee's hand brushes against Seokwoo's — there is no comfort to be found, but understanding is there, and embraces them. 

This very specific part of their world will never be fine — Seokwoo responds to the touch with one of his own, slightly tilting his hand so that the contact is permanent rather than fleeting, extending a finger and softly requesting access to the space between Chanhee's forefinger and middle finger — Chanhee accepts, rests his finger on Seokwoo's when it curls around his; shuts his eyes and tries to focus on the body next to him, warm and compassionate, in search of comfort just like him.

'Please  _ never  _ do that again,' Taeyang says, still in the kitchen, but desperate enough to be loud, eliciting laughter from Sanghyuk.

Seokwoo sniffles, and gives Chanhee's finger the lightest squeeze.

Their own personal hell, and the shelter they build for themselves, made of hay and frail wood — things that do not last, but keep them warm long enough to give them the energy needed to collect solid branches and bricks — things that in the end matter, and allow them to rise the morning after.

The first step to tranquility — Chanhee squeezes Seokwoo's finger back. It'll be fine.

⁂

The first snow comes early, twirling from the sky the day after Youngbin's birthday, covering everything it can reach with a cold blanket of blinding white — setting up home in Seokwoo's hair and flushing his cheeks a bright red, making him shiver as he approaches Chanhee.

'They haven't called me in yet, have they?'

Chanhee shakes his head — says no, but that he'll probably be up soon.

'Chunhei said the defense is fired up today,' he adds. ‘They're wasting no time.'

Seokwoo nods, brushes his hair back. Attempts to make himself look a little more becoming, and doesn't quite succeed at it, snow still stuck in his hair and his scarf, his lack of suit very apparent.

'They're not going to destroy me for having a job, are they?'

Chanhee doesn't reply and instead stands up, beckons Seokwoo closer. Ignores the voice in his head telling him to stay still, and proceeds to help Seokwoo.

'Just what happened,' he asks as he takes off Seokwoo's scarf, shakes it to get rid of the little snowflakes upon it. 'You texted that you were going to interview a suspect.'

Seokwoo lets out a chuckle, calculated and forebearer of a situation that didn't go as expected. He takes the scarf Chanhee doesn't dare to tie back around his neck, bends just a little to give him access to the million things wrong with his outfit — starts explaining as Chanhee does his best to help. 

His suspect tried to escape by the window, he says, and he elaborates on the extravagant story as time goes on — as Chanhee fixes this and that, passes timid fingers through his hair to pick up the snowflakes that haven't melted, tries not to get accustomed to the locks he untangles. Chanhee listens to him, even speaks to know more — but he feels as if someone else is listening for him, as if his ears and the parts of his brain that respond to the words they hear do not belong to him. He's only (can only) focus on what his hands are doing, on what Seokwoo is allowing him to do. Comb his hair, once, twice, thrice; tug on the collar of his coat; examine his shirt and his jeans — he obeys when Chanhee tells him to take his coat off, buttons up his cardigan when Chanhee mentions doing so — Chanhee wonders, in-between listening to Seokwoo speak and advising him to do this and that, how far he could actually go, what it would take for Seokwoo to step back. A caress, rather than a hurried hand ruffling his hair? Pulling him by the collar of his coat, rather than simply fixing it? Laying a hand on his chest, rather than pointing at the minuscule spot of tomato sauce spilled on it? Kissing him, rather than everything they're doing right now?

Chanhee wonders — is tempted to test out his questions and theories — to tell Seokwoo to lean forward and stay still while he'd lay a hand on his hip, to gently pull him down and cup his face — to kiss him, softly, slowly, to encourage him and to wish him luck — or simply because he wants to, because he's been curious for a while and wonders how Seokwoo's lips would feel on his, how they would taste and how they would move against his, how they would kiss back and ask for more. If they would softly part and follow Chanhee's along, if they would pull back and whisper  _ this is not the moment (nor the time, nor the place _ ) — if, in the comfort of Chanhee's apartment, alone and out of sight, sheltered by the closed door and Chanhee's embrace — they'd trail down his jaw or his neck, would plant the gentlest kiss on Chanhee's adam's apple, and some more underneath, on the spot between his clavicles then upon his collarbone, as they'd wander towards his shoulder, would discover the body that begs to be explored by them. If they would be as gentle and loving as Chanhee sometimes imagines when he's alone and starving — if they would be willing to kiss him if Chanhee were to lean in, if they would respond if Chanhee pecked them. If Chanhee has a chance with them, and Seokwoo.

'Kim Seokwoo — it’s your turn.'

The questions remain unanswered.

Testifying goes well. The defense, although slightly rough and rude, is quick, and Chanhee is out of their way in no time, taking place next to Seokwoo in the open gallery, remaining there to know how the day will end. It's too late to go back to work anyway — his shift ended one hour ago, and he hasn't received a text or a call for a new investigation, a new victim to take care of.

'Dinner out?' Seokwoo offers as they're stepping out, gesturing to his car.

Chanhee hesitates — feels like after letting his imagination run wild before Seokwoo was called in, he really should not feed it — but Seokwoo is a friend, first and foremost, and Chanhee enjoys spending time with him, feels like he needs a breather just as much as him.

'Sure.'

They settle up in some quiet restaurant in a street Chanhee had never taken until now, where the streetlights shine yellow rather than white, and the houses and the traffic lights look permanently stuck in the beginning of the twentieth century. Unfamiliar, new — Chanhee stares at everything in awe while they wait for their order to arrive, fascinated by lights and paintings he had never seen before, suddenly feeling at peace on his old wooden chair.

'Pretty, isn't it?'

Seokwoo is smiling — has undone the buttons of his cardigan and rolled up his sleeves to rest his elbows on the table, looks at him through an unruly lock of hair. Chanhee looks away before his mind once again conjures up things that should not exist, gazes at the painting of cheetahs hung behind the bar.

'It really is. You know so many places I don't.'

_ How come,  _ he almost says, but the answer appears as soon as he opens his mouth — cases, of course, rapid lunches squeezed between canvassing and interviewing, before stakeouts and after being called to a crime scene. Evil makes the world go round.

'Don't go out often?'

It's not that, Chanhee says, just as they're being served — he's more of a homebody, is all, lazes around at home when he's off work.

'But on your cases…?'

'My cases outside are all the same: we take a quick break at a fast food, or eat cookies or sandwiches from the nearest bakery nearby.'

Seokwoo shakes his head, fakes being burdened.

'Who's been taking care of you like this… this hurts my heart.'

Chanhee laughs — seizes the opportunity of the pesto at the corner of Seokwoo's lips to snap back.

'Look at you,' he says, as Seokwoo wipes his mouth, face just a little redder than usual. 'Now and before the trial. Who's being taken care of?'

Seokwoo is a baby, a kid who loves absurd squabbles — he seizes the bait happily and argues he's showing Chanhee places he hasn't seen before — and that he's driving him everywhere anyway, that without him he'd be freezing at the bus stop.

'There's the  _ tube, _ you giant,' Chanhee fires back in-between two bites of pasta carbonara, and the fake argument soon becomes a discussion about the metro and how useful it is, the stops Seokwoo knows (not much) and the ones he has never heard about (many). He listens to Chanhee talk, about the scenery and the people, the stops and their atmosphere, the books he reads on the subway — inquires about this and that, cutely, like a tourist who wants to see and know about everything, like a child going on holidays for the first time.

'I'll take you on a trip, one day,' Chanhee wisely concludes after telling Seokwoo about _Ye_ _acacias_ stop — patting his hand for good measure, like a good friend would.

And, like the amazing friend he is, he waits for him once they're done eating and paying, and Seokwoo announces he's going to the restroom — gazes at the painting on the wall at the right of the bar, fish swimming up a river while children race each other in the forest it runs through.

'Like it?' the waitress by the bar says, as she's cleaning a drink. She's pretty — blond hair and a charming smile, green eyes that glint as they look at Chanhee. 

'Yeah,' Chanhee nods, smiles back shyly. 'I like the colours.'

_ Me too,  _ the waitress replies, and she tells Chanhee about the artist who made this painting, who made most of the other pieces in the restaurant —  _ a talented person, _ she repeats many times,  _ kind and so skilled. _ It's interesting, to listen to her story — probably would be a bit more fascinating if Chanhee weren't sleep deprived, if this was lunch rather than dinner — but Seokwoo seems to be very absorbed, asks questions and talks about it as they exit the restaurant.

'I'd never heard about the artist's story,' he says as they get into the car — proceeds to discuss this and that thing. Chanhee mostly listens — suddenly feels too tired to give Seokwoo full, detailed answers, tries his best but fails at it.

'I'm wearing you out,' Seokwoo laughs at a red light, as he looks for words to describe the knight painting by the door.

'Not at all,' Chanhee replies immediately — guilty and shameful, upset to be giving off the impression he's not interested. 'It's not that at all.'

'Tired?'

Chanhee nods — lowers his head, embarrassed.

'It's not you,' he mumbles, as if Seokwoo needed to hear it again — probably making a fool of himself, elaborating on him being tired; but he doesn't want Seokwoo to believe he's bothering him, doesn't want him to think he's talking too much. 'It's just… the day.'

Seokwoo smiles — kindly. Says he understands — jokes about Chanhee shutting off after a certain time, needing to charge like an old phone.

'That's what happens when you're so small,' he sighs, dramatically. Chanhee squints and asks him to repeat himself — starts the argument Seokwoo was juggling before his nose, makes Seokwoo laugh as he gets mildly offended.

'So you're tired when you have to listen to me, but when it's time to bully and insult me, you have all the energy in the world, huh.'

They're parked in front of Chanhee's apartment, finishing their squabble before Chanhee gets back into the warmth and serenity of his home, before he leaves those of Seokwoo's car.

'Come here,' Chanhee leans in, loosely wraps his hands around Seokwoo's throat, 'I'll strangle you.'

Seokwoo giggles, calls him a brute — lays his hands on Chanhee as Chanhee gently shakes him, lets out awfully fake rales.

'You're killing me,' he wheezes, sounding like an eighty year old man, applying the slightest pressure on Chanhee's hands.

_ Good,  _ Chanhee replies, and it's all he really gets to say before his eyes meet Seokwoo's — before he feels his heart skip a beat at the sight, and takes note of everything. The fingers wrapped around his hands — the glint in Seokwoo's eyes, the pure joy in his smile — the way he stares at Chanhee as he laughs, the way his eyelids flutter, entrancing butterflies whose hearts hold warmth and care — the skin under his hands, and the pulse Chanhee fancies he can feel, beating right against his forefinger, living loudly and proudly, making Seokwoo's cheeks flush and making Chanhee want to pull him closer, to turn his strangling grip into a gentle hold, to kiss him softly, once, and twice, before pulling back and staring at him, at all the wonders his eyes, his smile, his everything hold.

'You're mean,' Seokwoo says, but the emotion isn't there — his voice is a whisper, and he sounds out of breath, as if painfully aware too, of everything between them, as if he were on the same wavelength as Chanhee. As if he felt the same —

_ Impossible,  _ Chanhee thinks, fleetingly — cannot believe Seokwoo would ever think like him, refuses to feed his greedy imagination. Has fallen victim to it far too many times recently, doesn't want it to become the storm that destroys the garden he has tended to for the past few years — wants it to stay away and disappear into nothingness, what it once belonged to, what it once was.

He takes off his hands, clears his throat — hopes that what he knows is a furious blush isn’t noticeable in the dark of Seokwoo’s car.

'Takes one to know one.'

And Seokwoo could say his job is to prevent crimes and punish the ones who commit them, like he once did — could be childish and stick his tongue out, like he often does — could decide to end their argument there, and talk about something else, suddenly reminded of something.

But he doesn't — he smiles, instead, and pokes Chanhee in the chin, softly. Sets his skin ablaze with a single touch, leaning back just a second too late and letting out a laugh, too gentle to be teasing — Chanhee swallows, tries to push back the thoughts racing in his mind, fails and ends up listening to them all, almost sees them before his very eyes.

'I guess.'

Seokwoo's eyes glint with unsaid words, undone things — nothing that Chanhee knows, nothing he has access to — and that, yet, seems to course through his veins, that almost appears to exist. Chanhee blinks — witnesses everything left hanging.

Is left speechless — but in this very moment, words are the last thing that matters.

⁂

'Unbelievable,' Sanghyuk says.

He's looking at his dessert, awed by the amount of whipped cream above his ice cream, melting along the copious drops of chocolate that the chef poured upon it. Youngkyun, at his right, is chewing on his waffle, unfazed, looking at his phone screen, open on his conversation with Taeyang.

'So you don't mind?' he asks.

Seokwoo throws yet another suggestive glance at Chanhee above his empty glass of water — probably thinks Youngkyun is committing a crime by ignoring how good his own dessert is, only focusing on Taeyang's pottery class and the cats he just got.

'Yes, I'll pick him up, don't worry.' Sanghyuk takes a spoonful of his dame blanche, sighs as he leans back in his seat. 'God, I'm never going to another restaurant, ever. I'm kissing this chef thank you and a temporary goodbye.'

_ Betting you don't,  _ Chanhee says in-between two bites of his apple pie — and indeed he doesn't, but he thanks the chef again and again as they leave, makes sure to tell him a thousand times.

'We'll come back soon!' he yells as they're exiting the restaurant and Jaeyoon-the-chef, cheeks flushed red with Sanghyuk's tip in his hands, waves them goodbye, thanks them again even after the door is shut.

They squeeze themselves in Sanghyuk's car, Youngkyun on the passenger seat and Chanhee and Seokwoo sent to the backseat — Seokwoo is much too tall, has to sit with his legs folded to the right — his knee rests against Chanhee's, and he gazes at him as Youngkyun and Sanghyuk discuss Taeyang's pottery class, animals and tv series.

'You'll fall for Joghurt, definitely,' Youngkyun says — lovingly, looking at the three pictures Taeyang sent him from the adoption center, of the tiny tiny white kitten he picked up two days ago. He's shown them to Seokwoo a thousand times already, but Chanhee wants to see them again, coos just a little at how adorable old black cat Shadow and his protégée are.

'So cute,' he whispers as he leans back in his seat — he's fonder of dogs, had one when he was younger, but kittens are a thing none can resist, and his heart melts at how small Joghurt is in Taeyang's hand.

'It's the size,' Sanghyuk says. 'Small equals cute.'

Youngkyun hums in agreement — Chanhee glances at Seokwoo, smirk on his lips.  _ Too bad for you,  _ he wants to tease — but Seokwoo Knows before he even opens his mouth, lightly kicks him in the knee.

_ Bully,  _ he mouths,  _ so mean. _

Chanhee laughs, looks away to gaze at the city lights when Youngkyun asks Seokwoo about one of their cases. Tired, and at the same time overexcited, Seokwoo stutters as he looks for his words, trips a little while he speaks. So big — his hands are inches away from Chanhee's, he takes up the entire space when he leans forward — his cheeks bunch up as he smiles, and there's a twinkle in his eyes when his gaze meets Chanhee's.

Cute.

⁂

January, the seventeenth starts with a foggy morning — Chanhee wakes to three messages from Juho, punctuated by many emojis, and even more loving wishes. Spends a part of his day thanking everyone congratulating him on yet another year, yet another upcoming successful session of life — spends the beginning of his afternoon talking to his parents, catching up with them and updating them on his life.

'Yes,' he says, and laughs when he hears Maria, his parents' new dog, bark into the other end of the phone. 'I'm meeting up with my friends later.'

It's really not much: a little dinner in his apartment, just to celebrate, just to end the day well. Chanhee doesn't really care much about his birthday, doesn't want a party or anything — knows that Youngbin has probably planned some things anyway, a cake and probably gifts or money, a few bear hugs that will reconcile all of his parts together.

Sanghyuk arrives at six thirty — fashionably early, and kissing him on the cheek, his tight red suit somehow still allowing him to catch Chanhee when he steps back, unwilling to be hugged and pampered.

'Baby,' Sanghyuk says as he holds him tightly, and Chanhee grumbles that Sanghyuk  _ is _ the baby, replies, in-between two hug attempts, that he's immature. 

But Sanghyuk isn't the only one to kiss him: Youngbin does too, a loud smack on his cheek, and so does Juho, not letting him go for a good minute, while Inseong stares, embarrassed, compassionate. Youngkyun, victim of the same ritual, kind friend who understands his feelings all too well, simply pats his back, and wishes him a happy birthday as he takes off his shoes.

They're chatting — some of them sitting on the couch, Chanhee standing around like the good host he is — when Seokwoo arrives, late and seemingly in a hurry, the frown he's wearing only relaxing when he meets eyes with Chanhee.

'Happy birthday.'

He doesn't kiss him — ruffles his hair and gives him the gift he's holding, makes everyone moan and groan.

'Oh, come  _ on,'  _ Sanghyuk grumbles, 'that's not fair! You just arrived and you're stealing everyone's show!'

An argument starts, acted out and non serious, and Chanhee ends up opening most of his gifts with Inseong by his side, listening to their antics with half an ear. He's pleased — feels like he doesn't deserve them all, even if they're calling each other literal birds' names and pointing fingers at everything in the heat of their fake argument; feels like finding them and becoming friends with them was the only lottery he ever won, the only one he really needs in the end.

'You're all so sweet,' he mutters, shy, struggling to word his emotions — Sanghyuk coos and pulls him closer, kisses him on the cheek yet again. Gets kicked off the couch as a reply, says he'll haunt Chanhee's apartment when he dies.

'You won't be able to refuse my ghost kisses when I'm transparent and untouchable!' he yells as Chanhee goes to his room to store his gifts in it, to make more space in the living-room. Chanhee ignores him, rolls his eyes before going back to his little crowd of guests. Comes back to Youngkyun taking revenge for him, and smiles.

He points to his phone, forebearer of unhealthy but delicious takeout, of a night well-spent amongst friends.

'Shall we?'

Inseong leans back on the couch, moans as a few of his bones crack.

'Thank god tomorrow is Sunday,' he says. 'I wouldn't be able to teach tomorrow if it weren't.'

Juho pats his back tenderly, smiles when Youngkyun asks him about his job.

'Got more anecdotes to tell us?' he inquires — requests, and Inseong, amazing storyteller and always full of tales to tell, happily complies. He's great, at socialising, is impossibly easy to talk to, and it's reluctantly that Chanhee rises from the couch, plates in hands, heading to the kitchen.

Where Seokwoo stands — like he once did in Youngkyun's apartment a little before summer, sun-kissed and dreamlike. There's a stark contrast between then and now: Sanghyuk, rather than failing to stay still on the couch, is talking with Youngbin outside, on the balcony; the night occupies the skies rather than the day; and Seokwoo, although still as beautiful, still as ethereal as then, looks even better, winter giving him shades of daintiness Chanhee is rather fond of, his cardigan doing wonders to his back, hugging him in just the right places. A sight of his own, just like before — but Chanhee enjoys it even more now, is even more charmed.

'Looking for something?' he smirks. 'This is not where I've hidden all my cash, you know.'

Seokwoo turns to him, reveals he's cleaning his tee-shirt, trying to salvage it from the sauce he spilled on it. Chanhee almost facepalms — ethereal and gorgeous, but at what cost.

'You're awful at the whole eating thing, aren't you?' he deadpans.

Seokwoo blushes, looks away. Fists the tissue he was using to rub the spot off, throws it away.

'My shirts have known better days.'

_ Indeed,  _ Chanhee replies, and he asks him if he has the essentials at home, if he needs Chanhee to lend him montmorillonite.

'It works wonders,' Chanhee explains as he looks for it, Seokwoo's question on  _ what?  _ and  _ how does it work? _ obvious tellers he has no idea what Chanhee is talking about.

He hands him his little pot, warns he'll be very angry if he doesn't get it back.

'I'll kick you in the shins,' he threatens as he stands up, shutting the door of the shelf beneath his bathroom sink. 'And I have been told I have great medical knowledge.'

Seokwoo ruffles his hair, again, winks at him.

'No worries.' He smiles. 'I'll give it back to you.'

⁂

Indeed, he does. Seokwoo texts him after work, a few days, weeks later. 

_ I'm in the neighbourhood,  _ he texts.  _ Paying a visit to a suspect. Can I come around to give you your little pot back? _

_ Sure,  _ Chanhee replies — not really thinking things through, and that's how he finds himself freaking out as Seokwoo calls him on the interphone, requesting to be let in. It's… unusual, not familiar at all to have Seokwoo, and only Seokwoo, in his apartment — it's a first, and Chanhee, somehow, is awfully scared of what this could mean, feels like he agreed to a terrible mistake.

But Seokwoo fits so well in his apartment: his blue jumper clashing warmly with Chanhee's couch, his mug of hot chocolate foaming on the coffee table, where no mug ever lays — the way he has Chanhee opening up to him before even realising it, how easily he has his tongue loosening and uttering things he wasn't even thinking of before. Like having him around is normal, usual — pure routine, and Chanhee, no matter how head over heels he is, hates it just a little bit, feels extremely vulnerable, cannot help fearing and overthinking everything, considering what getting used to this all could do to him, the harm it could bring to his small, and sometimes frail, heart.

But there is something lacking today — a tinge of comfort that usually follows Seokwoo, that settles in the air as they speak and chat — Seokwoo, Chanhee notices, doesn't dare to look at him for too long, has his hands shaking slightly as he grabs his mug to drink. Seems just the slightest bit nervous — but it stands out like a sore thumb in the painting Chanhee has become used to, shades of a bright red in a heap of sombre green leaves. Seokwoo, no matter how hard he tries to act like himself, is just a little bit off, has nervousness and anticipation controlling his mind and acts — for what, Chanhee doesn't know, has no idea about. Doesn't get to find out for what feels like forever — only gets the missing pieces of the puzzle as Seokwoo is about to leave, and turns around — says that actually, he has something to tell him, something rather important.

He stumbles on his words, trips and expresses himself awkwardly — apologises for laying his heart out in Chanhee's apartment, where this scene could easily become a very bad memory that would make the place unlivable. As if — the apartment has met and come to know a thousand and one awful situations, has dealt with nameless men and random bursts of tears. Can surely handle the sweetness pouring out of Seokwoo's mouth, and how shy he is, how he stops time with his words, and pushes the sun over —- has it, timid, shining upon the darkest corners of Chanhee's world.

It can surely handle the forced, yet tender smile Seokwoo gives him after confessing — can handle the way it widens and reaches his eyes when Chanhee mutters he likes him too, that he would not mind at all going on a date with him. It can handle the way the world slightly tips back, before becoming stable yet again — can handle a potential life-changing thing, one wrapped in tender hands and glinting eyes, warmth and care — life itself, and everything it will become.


	3. Chapter 3

Their first date is a struggle: Seokwoo asks Chanhee out for coffee on a sunny winter day, after a rather calm week at work — exciting, making Chanhee buzz with anticipation, giving him something to look forward to other than books, naps and SVU.

Until Chanhee falls sick, just the day before — the flu chaining him to his bed, forcing him to cancel. He apologises, many times, in-between delirium and falling back asleep — Seokwoo, sweet Seokwoo, tells him it's all fine, that he should rest and focus on his health, that they'll meet another time.

_ We have time,  _ he says, soothing Chanhee's heart, reassuring his soul — Chanhee doesn't quite know how to answer, if he should thank him or agree with him. Ends up replying in the middle of the night —  _ you're right. Let's plan a new date once I'm feeling better? _

But they don't get to plan something new: work, crime, catches up with them, keeps them occupied and away from each other for a few weeks. It's awfully sad — awfully weird, seeing Seokwoo here and there and knowing that technically, they're together — but knowing they haven't quite reached the point where they can kiss and be comfortable around each other as… dates (boyfriends???), that their dating status is more like a promise of work than an actual contract — or is it, Chanhee wonders during a night, sleep failing to embrace him. After all, he enjoys Seokwoo's company, now knows Seokwoo feels just like him — has their relationship started, or should they wait for the first kiss? The first date? The first time they feel sparks between them, and butterflies flutter in their stomachs? Chanhee thinks he remembers — all the times he's met Seokwoo's eyes and felt understood, all the times he's looked at him and thought they matched well — all the times Seokwoo told him he enjoyed his company, and expressed his pleasure silently, through smiles, laughter and confidences, fleeting touches that lingered and a fondness not quite akin to friendship — he remembers, and assumes (knows) that he's acted the same, played Seokwoo's game willingly without even lifting a finger — has reciprocated everything that was thrown his way, without ever noticing it.

The inability to meet Seokwoo properly makes all of this blurrier — a building hidden in the fog, touchable but unwilling to tell them what it is, a vague shape settling between them. Togetherness, but only in spirit — remaining friendship when they meet at the centre or at the station, fear stopping them from mentioning their feelings to other people, not even daring to mention them in their own texts. Timidity, unfamiliarity — keeping them away from what could simply be, chaining them to the old playground they once used to reign over.

It all is so simple, yet so hard: looking at Seokwoo and knowing he has feelings for him, and not finding the words, the time, the strength to say them — having said them once and worrying he'll overdo it if he repeats them, worrying to be nothing like Seokwoo expected and everything he hates, no matter how well they seem to fit, how natural it is to just be around him.

They have time — and yet Chanhee feels like they don't at all, feels like every action of theirs is messed up — like they didn't start, are not doing this properly. Feels himself drowning in thoughts and feelings he cannot word, because he and Seokwoo aren't dating  _ dating,  _ and exposing things and thoughts would be too much this early in their relationship.

If there will ever be a relationship, Chanhee finds himself thinking one night, washing away the stench of a crime scene by the bridge near the old streets and their abandoned buildings — overthinking everything, and wondering if this isn't just a giant mistake. Feeling miserable, and much too stupid for having feelings.

But then — Seokwoo kisses him (or, well: he kisses Seokwoo, and gets kissed back). Seokwoo cups his cheek and stares at him with stars in his eyes — laughs as they kiss again days later, and lays a hand on his hip, pulls him closer and kisses him, pulls back just a little, to lock eyes with him and smile, widely, gleefully. Turns his entire world upside down and back up at the same time, sets everything right, for a brief moment — then, as soon as he stops, as soon as their bodies stop touching and talking, it all tips back, to the in-between they belong to, where things aren't authorised unless they have experience and knowledge of each other, where fear reigns and the atmosphere is heavy with embarrassment, awkwardness, inability to really gauge the lines that make up their budding relationship. It's complicated, incredibly difficult and stupidly delicate — tiring, but as time slowly passes, as they meet up a few times, just the two of them, for a few minutes or many hours — they get used to it, gradually, step by step.

They're not There yet — probably won't reach it until they're past everything and find themselves tangled up; look down at themselves and realise they're intertwined — as time goes by, Chanhee tells himself it's normal, that it's nothing to worry about. That it has to be something they have to go through — building trust and learning to know and discover each other, slightly changing and letting one mould the other to fit better into the puzzle they plan to shape. It's natural, he thinks — and it takes time, an awful amount of embarrassing moments and torturous questions, but when Chanhee looks into Seokwoo eyes — sees the hope he feels reflected in his own — he thinks that it might just be fine.

⁂

Spring has come early this year — there is a light breeze, playing with everything it encounters, and a few clouds covering the sun, but the weather is otherwise gorgeous: sunny, warm, energising. A weather perfect for a date, a coworker had said once they'd arrived at the crime scene they were supposed to inspect — and Chanhee, in-between listening to officers talk and doing his usual investigation, couldn't help but agree, couldn't help but wish he were with Seokwoo instead of bent over a fifty year old man, decaying and reeking of putrefaction, conjuring up unneeded nausea at the barest intake of air.

'He's a pimp,' Anvi, the space 14 cop working the case, tells him — grumbles to her partner about hoping to never find whomever killed him —  _ it's what he deserved,  _ she mutters as they drive Chanhee back to the center, and Chanhee is grateful to not be a cop, to be distanced from everything that has to do with the law and the guilt accompanying crime.

'I'm sure Sanghyuk will do his best,' Seokwoo says later, on the phone — he's been doing that recently, asking Chanhee if they can call rather than text. Being just a little bit clingier than before, and Chanhee is very happy to let him do just that, to be the university table to his chewed gum and the rock to his mussel — if anything, he enjoys it.

'But isn't it tough?'

There's a silence at the other end of the phone, while Seokwoo thinks and ponders on his answer — takes his time to think about it, to give a well-worded reply, like he always does when the conversation gets deeper.

'I don't know. He does this job for a reason, you know.' A pause. 'We all do, don't we?'

Chanhee doesn't really know — thinks it's true for most of them, says it's never easy.

'Of course,' Seokwoo agrees. 'But I personally like knowing I have the power to put criminals behind bars. The ability to protect people. Knowing that the world is just a little safer with me in it. There's probably me-issues and a little egocentrism to be found in that if you dig,' he chuckles, to water down his interest in his job, his love for the duty, 'but I would be miserable without it.'

Chanhee smiles — doesn't feel the same at all, but he appreciates discovering a bit of Seokwoo's mind, likes it when he reflects while he speaks. He's honest and uncomplicated — so simple and easy to understand, charmingly authentic and direct — Chanhee enjoys listening to him, enjoys knowing his opinion on this and that.

He asks Seokwoo questions — makes him elaborate on why he does this job, asks for anecdotes and more pieces of his mind — listens to it all, sitting and lying down, wandering in his apartment. Enjoys the sound of his voice, and the way he words things — the way he thinks, and gets his mindset across. Enjoys his company, even from afar.

Seokwoo sighs after a while, as Chanhee stands in his kitchen, staring at the inside of his fridge, slowly but surely getting colder as he gazes at the frozen potatoes on the shelf before him.

'I'm talking way too much,' he says. 'I know it gets annoying. Please stop me.'

Chanhee doesn't want to — doesn't think he's annoying at all, and really wishes he knew who made Seokwoo believe he's being a disturbance whenever he opens his mouth. Words these thoughts, a part of them — being Seokwoo's date means he should be honest and point out every little thing he likes about him, isn't it?

'No.' He closes his fridge, leans against his sink. 'Keep talking. I like it.'

Funnily, this creates a silence — a short, but heavy one, as Seokwoo processes Chanhee's words, as he thinks of a reply. Chanhee wonders if he should add more, if he should have said less — doesn't get to reach a conclusion, as Seokwoo speaks again:

'Do you really?'

Voice timid, trying its best to remain emotionless — completely failing at it, but Chanhee is starting to get used to this, how awful Seokwoo is at masking his feelings, and how he tries nevertheless, untrained soldier that doesn't want to surrender, who's too careful to notice the familiarity in the home Chanhee is offering. Perhaps that'll pass in the future, if they make it to grow old together — or perhaps it won't, and even if they sleep glued to each other, tendrils all intertwined and unable to be cut, Seokwoo will still take precautions, will still be attempting to appear less emotional than he really is. Chanhee doesn't really mind: the shades of emotions Seokwoo has shown up until now are gorgeous colours, and carnivals, though not usually his favourite thing, are something fascinating when Seokwoo is the one creating them.

'It can get a lot, you know.'

Chanhee smiles — lets out a silent laugh, endeared.

'Fine by me. I don't mind at all.'

_ I'm rather quiet,  _ he adds a little while later, surreptitious warning of how boring he really is, how uninterested and unresponsive he sometimes appears to be — but just like how he enjoys listening to Seokwoo, Seokwoo likes silence, likes this part of him.

'I like quiet,' he confesses. 'Not because I always need to talk and never want to be interrupted, but… I like your peace.'

Oddly worded — but Seokwoo keeps talking, and tells him his silence is comforting, and that what he doesn't say, he manages to get across in other ways. Surprising Chanhee, pointing out things about himself he had never noticed before, things he did not know existed — spreading warmth in his chest, watering plants that had been forgotten for a very long time. Gifting cracks Chanhee had forgotten about a glimmer of sun and a new beginning — breathing life into them, and tenderly reaching out to them, caressing them once before retreating, as their conversation goes off on a tangent and then concludes, as Seokwoo hangs up and Chanhee is left alone, lying on his couch, staring up at the ceiling.

He falls asleep there, soothed by Seokwoo's words and the thoughts they set off, by the strange feeling of novelty, of being looked at in a new light. Wakes around three o'clock, to the sound of rain crashing against the window of his living-room — drags himself to bed and huddles under his covers, cold and warm all at once.

Seokwoo kisses him the next time they meet, and talks and talks and talks. Chanhee doesn't mind at all.

⁂

'It's a great advance for our labs. I'm glad Eddie said yes.'

Youngbin is sat on one of the couches of the break room, mug of coffee in hand — talking to Juho and Nasir the new expert, recently transferred from the other end of the country. Chanhee, fighting against sleep, is washing his own mug, considering getting another coffee.

'Say,' Juho calls as Youngbin and Nasir go back to their own offices, to the bloody case they've been working on nowadays, 'Sanghyuk is organising something for Youngkyun's birthday.'

Chanhee nods.

'Yeah, he told me. He and Taeyang are taking him to that restaurant, right?'

'Yeah. Are you going to the gathering they planned afterwards?'

'Of course.'

How could he miss Youngkyun's birthday, he says — he's already bought him something, has already planned his evening around it.  _ I haven't, yet,  _ Juho replies — says he'll probably take a look around town this weekend, with Inseong, because Inseong has a questionably amazing knowledge of each and every store in the city, and they need to get out a little.

'We haven't been on a date for a while,' he confesses as they reach their office, and Chanhee listens as Juho explains it all, the school trip Inseong went on and Juho's cases, not necessarily heavy but time-consuming and tiring.

'You guys deserve a break,' Chanhee smiles, empathetic, patting him on the back. 'If you get a call this weekend, forward it to my phone.'

Juho ruffles his hair, says he doesn't have to — but eventually accepts his offer, thanking him as he leaves the office, wishing him a good weekend.

Nobody calls: Chanhee spends his weekend reading, the last few chapters of  _ The Blueberry Pie,  _ and the first ones of a french crime novel Youngkyun lent him just a few days ago — watches SVU when he gets a little tired of words and their worlds, rereads a few poems of the book Seokwoo gifted him for his birthday. Thinks of Seokwoo, a lot — would like to invite him out, or to his place, to spend some time with him. Fears to appear clingy, thus doesn't, simply texts him then calls him, in the middle of the Sunday afternoon, when he's bored to death and really, really wishes he were there.

'So, sup,' Seokwoo asks ten minutes into the call, after rambling about his cats — he's at his family's, celebrating his mother's birthday — standing around on the veranda, he says, but it's all fine, because his little cousins are there, and it's always better to see them in pictures than in the flesh.

'Nothing. I'm bored.'

Seokwoo laughs — low, fond — offers to come see him on his way home. Makes it very tempting in the way he words it, whispering as if they were students preparing to do a prank or a mistake, suggesting he comes around nine — Chanhee can almost see it all unfolding in front of his eyes, awkward talks  t urning into peaceful conversations, kisses here and there, and more if they're feeling up for it, the possibility for Seokwoo to stay the night — another set of steps forward, and Chanhee, a little more scared than usual today, fears saying yes, fears enjoying this and wanting more, getting used to it. Feels like he needs it, and ultimately says no because of this — picking up habits is never a good idea in love, would do him no good this early in their relationship.

'Mentioning you're bored but refusing my offer? Alright,' Seokwoo says — doesn't mean the jab, but Chanhee takes it to heart, knows it must seem illogical for anyone who isn't him. Feels guilty once he's hung up and he's back to being alone.

There is no right or wrong move in this relationship, where both parties care about the other — but each tiny thing that doesn't have them moving forward has Chanhee feeling like he's doing it all terribly wrong, like Seokwoo deserves much better than him. It's habits that will have them becoming something more, he thinks,  _ knows,  _ but the concept of it all scares him to no end, makes him feel like he's standing at the edge of a gaping hole. What if Seokwoo doesn't like him, says a voice at the bottom of the pit — what if he's not enough? What if he is, what if they're made for each other — but this isn't the place nor the time, this is their only chance and they'll be blowing it? What if they have it all wrong, and nothing works? What if everything is perfect, and it all shatters into pieces?

Fear has never been a good advisor, should never be the pillars one uses to create a building of decisions — but Chanhee cannot help it, is scared of stepping out of the comfort he's used to. Is scared to get attached to Seokwoo, more than he already is, and eventually lose it all. Is scared to wake up one day, to the glaring fact that all of this isn't it at all, that nothing has been done right and that he, they, messed up. Is scared to be in love again, to in the end stare at Seokwoo years later, through a photograph or the pretty poem he added to his birthday gift, because it made no sense for the publishers not to add this one — to have to tuck him in his box of memories, and to admit this was one more mistake, something that shaped him but didn't stay with him, a tree that was cut before it could fully grow. It scares him, so much, has him losing his footing in a world he built himself — closing his mouth and staying silent, only opening it to utter the wrong words, only tipping backwards in his attempt to stay upright. only falling as he tries to remain standing, and failing to catch the hand Seokwoo is extending.

Doing it all wrong, doing it all wrong — so that if it fails, and everything breaks apart, his fall will be small, and the impact gentle — so that if nothing works, he can tell himself he made it out okay.

Being everything but okay, and ignoring it — allowing fear to control him, and surrendering to its temptation. Accepting the pillar it hands him, and trying to rebuild his broken castle with it, ignoring the structure Seokwoo is offering him.

On some days, Chanhee hates himself.

⁂

They have a date, planned for the evening — Chanhee is buzzing with excitement, unable to keep the nervous smile off his face. Seokwoo is picking him up at eight, to go to Jaeyoon's restaurant — to taste his new entries and his new desserts, to discuss things in-between two bites, to later kiss in his car once Seokwoo will have driven him home, acting like teenagers rather than adults. Chanhee's looking forward to it, greatly — cannot wait to be done with his day, to go home and change into a nicer outfit, into something that will have Seokwoo staring when he'll think Chanhee won't see him — cannot wait to be with him once more, and share a moment in his company, to have a bright and fulfilling evening, dazzling his week with happiness.

Except —

Chanhee is finishing up a mail to Eddie when his phone buzzes. He doesn't pay attention to it, sends his mail and browses the clutter that is his mailbox — but his phone buzzes, again, and Chanhee grabs it, wonders if Youngkyun needs something, or if Sanghyuk is planning to call him later, informing him of his decision rather than asking for his agreement.

It's neither —  _ I'm sorry,  _ Seokwoo’s first message says, very unlike him;  _ but I can't make it to today's date. _

_ Really sorry,  _ Chanhee continues to read,  _ but something came up. Can we reschedule? _

It takes Chanhee some minutes, to process the messages then the information, to get over the shock and swallow the entirety of his feelings, ball of happiness suddenly heavy in his throat, stomach, weighing him down as he thinks of what to answer. There is no date, this evening — no date at all, suddenly.

_ It's all good, _ he forces himself to type.  _ Everything alright? _

Seokwoo tells him it's nothing much — just one of his cases asking for a little more of his time than usual, a time he'd rather spend on it now than later.

_ It's kind of an important case,  _ he texts him, and Chanhee says he understands — tells him it's nothing much when Seokwoo thanks him many times.

_ It's all good,  _ he texts — and he's bummed out, disappointed to see his evening vanish into thin air like this, but Seokwoo's case comes first. He makes his bed, and lies in it, for the both of them.

The lift is broken when Chanhee comes out of his office — has been since six o'clock, apparently, and Chanhee mentally congratulates Juho on leaving early to pick up a gift for Inseong — hopes Youngbin did just like him, because if he hasn't they'll hear about it all week.

Not that Chanhee really minds: he's come to find it amusing, to hear Youngbin rants about the broken material and what Eddie does about it — but god knows how long his rants can be, god knows how much time he can spend talking about it. When Youngbin gets started on Eddie, he simply never stops, and it either takes a meal or very big news to distract him.

Chanhee is making a mental list of everything he'll possibly need to mention tomorrow as he opens the door to the stairs — stops as soon as the door closes and shuts out the entire world, gives echo to the person upstairs. To their sobs — Chanhee looks up and attempts (unsuccessfully, he knows) to get a look at whoever is on the floor above, at whoever has found shelter here. He can't quite tell from the sounds only; it's mostly sniffles, and a few moans, probably accidental, not meant to be let out.

Chanhee's heart hurts — sinks a little in his chest and wonders what to do, if he should wait until the person is gone to leave, or if he should climb the stairs, join them and comfort them. Perhaps simply pass by them, and ignore them, grant them the space they might need —  _ but what if they don't, _ a voice whispers to his mind,  _ what if they need reassurance? _

Chanhee nibbles on his bottom lip — knows there isn't quite a good or bad answer, knows that it all depends on whoever is upstairs, and how they'll react. That remaining there and waiting is an action in itself, no matter how he considers it — decides to be unnecessarily helpful, and starts to climb the stairs, thinks to himself that however this goes, he probably won't be the one whose heart will hurt the most after the encounter.

He doesn't quite know what to expect — doesn't know if he expects to somehow see Juho (no matter how far-fetched that is), or if he expects to see a staff member he barely knows about, a trainee who just arrived and can't take what they're doing. Doesn't really know what his eyes will see —

and yet manages to be surprised nevertheless.

But perhaps it is because of the familiarity of it all, because instead of a new recruit, of heels he's never seen before or a blouse he has only encountered twice — long legs stretch before him, in black jeans he's seen many times — a familiar silhouette leans against the wall and hides its face, wails just a little as its hold tightens on its face.

'Seokwoo?'

Chanhee's voice is the quietest whisper, the barest murmur — and yet it seems to break everything; the atmosphere and the peace, Seokwoo's cries and his pain. It pulls Seokwoo out of his suffering — but only to embarrass him publicly, only to have him straighten himself up and cover his face once more, to wipe his tears and try to appear presentable — everything Chanhee wished against, everything he did not want to witness — he lets go of his mind, and every thought crossing it, and runs up the remaining steps, forgets about every awkward thing he and Seokwoo are presently.

'Seokwoo,' he whispers again, and he lays his hands on his, cups his fingers, his face. 'Seokwoo.'

Seokwoo doesn't reply — sniffles. Allows Chanhee to pull his hands away, to tilt his face.

'Seokwoo.'

His eyes, usually brown havens of peace, of safety, comforting shelters and reassuring home, are red, swollen — full of tears, unable to stop them — holding the entirety of the world's misery in their frail frames, and cannot let go of it, swallow it all wordlessly.

'Seokwoo, what happened?'

Seokwoo closes his eyes, leans into Chanhee's hand. Sighs, broken, helpless — has each string of Chanhee's heart tightening, feeling like they might snap in half or even more — makes him feel like nothing is right at all, and he might die if Seokwoo doesn't get better.

He waits, a few minutes, tries to comfort him as best as he can — but it doesn't work, and when new tears form in Seokwoo's eyes, Chanhee believes the least he can do is offer him privacy, shelter from the outside world.

He pulls him closer, and gently asks him to stand up — takes his hand, and guides him downstairs — tells him they're going somewhere quiet, tranquil — private, where he can do whatever he wants.

'I'm here,' he says once they’re in his office, as he locks the door, to make sure none can stumble upon Seokwoo like this. 'Seokwoo, do you need me?'

He doesn't know how to dance — not like this, not in this environment. Doesn't know what Seokwoo needs, doesn't know how to hold him perfectly — doesn't know what to do to make it all better, and feels terrible about it. Watches as Seokwoo bends over and lets out a loud wail, as he crouches down and pulls on his hair — does something, without moving — takes a side, without realising.

Shakes himself awake — Seokwoo is suffering, much more than him — needs help, even if he does not word it. Is there really a need for a debate to be had, when such pain is being let out and witnessed — is there really an obligation for hugs, words and comfort to be perfect, when nothing is right?

'Seokwoo.'

Chanhee kneels before Seokwoo, grabs his hands. Repeats his name and asks him what's wrong — gets no answer, only gets to stare at troubled and distressed eyes — pulls him into his arms as a reply, hugs him tightly to replace the words that could be said, the things that could be done if he knew.

'I'm here,' he whispers tenderly, slipping a hand under Seokwoo's coat, under his cardigan — feeling the thin tee-shirt underneath it, caressing Seokwoo's back as gently as possible. He rests his head on his, listens to every breath he takes, every sob and noise of his. Remains quiet, no matter how much he yearns to talk and listen to Seokwoo speak, explain everything — waits, and remains there, because it seems it is what Seokwoo needs right now; because this is about Seokwoo, and not himself.

He counts the breaths Seokwoo takes, and takes note of how tightly he's holding him; of the way his chest heaves when he tries to take a deep breath, suddenly frail and fragile, delicate under Chanhee's hands, wishing to be taken care of, to be held and protected; of the way he clings to him, draped all over and around him, swallowing him whole in his arms — and yet being the one pulled in, being the one who needs Chanhee right now, and not vice versa; a giant planet in need of its tiniest star, grasping at the light it emanates and needing it for itself, assuming it will perish without it. Chanhee doesn't quite know, if he is enough for the both of them, if Seokwoo needs him entirely — but he does not care about the answer, does not need to know. Is fine trying his best, and overdoing himself, giving his brightest rays to Seokwoo — forgetting a little about himself, if it allows the world to notice Seokwoo and care about him, to protect him from whatever could hurt him. He does not mind, does not care — only wants Seokwoo to be fine — only wishes for him to be alright, and for the world to let him be. 

They remain like this for a short yet infinite amount of time: it seems like Seokwoo hugs Chanhee forever, seems like they will age like this, modern imitations of the Pompeii tragedy, frozen in pain and time — but then, as Seokwoo pulls back, everything seems awfully short, brief moments strung together, a few minutes in an extremely long life, a fleeting moment that does not matter. 

And yet it does, so much: Chanhee knows, by the look in Seokwoo's eyes and the way his hands cling to his, by the way he speaks and the words he uses to explain — perhaps it will not matter tomorrow, but today it does — a lot, and this is what is truly essential: the present, and how the both of them feel in its kingdom, how they take on everything that will later further shape them.

His victim has died, Seokwoo reveals, staring at Chanhee's hands and fiddling with them, not daring to meet Chanhee’s gaze. She was one day into the trial, and she killed herself.

'Was the case weak?'

Seokwoo shakes his head — doesn't seem to mind the question Chanhee realises is blunt as soon as it leaves his mouth.

'Not particularly. She was doing well.' He nibbles on his bottom lip, lets out a bitter, desperate laugh. 'Seemed like it, at least. She was holding up pretty well in the courtroom. If I'd known she…'

He dips — sighs loudly, and once more tries to cover his face with his hands, raises Chanhee's along with them. Chanhee lets him — gives him a few seconds, then pulls him just a little closer with them, folds Seokwoo's hands in one of his and cups his face with the other, wipes the few tears rolling down his cheek with his thumb.

'I'm sorry,' Seokwoo says — glancing at him, as if not daring to meet his eye. Chanhee strokes his cheek, the dark circle under his eye. 'I didn't want to bother you with it, but I- I wanted to set things straight, and make sure you- you'd know I wasn't ghosting the date or something.'

'It's okay.' Chanhee tilts Seokwoo's head up, waits until they lock eyes — smiles softly when Seokwoo finally meets his gaze, and is seized by the urge to kiss him, gently, on the tip of his nose or even his lips, to hold him forever until the end of time. Doesn't really know if his embrace will last, but surrenders anyway — closes Seokwoo's eyes and rests his forehead against his, whispers that everything is alright.

And nothing really is — but his words manage to soothe Seokwoo, and when Chanhee pulls back, the tears have stopped falling. A small, oh so very small thing — but just enough for the water drowning Seokwoo to decrease just a little, just enough for him to be able to breathe. Comfort, budding — enough.

He offers to drive Seokwoo home, offers to sleep at Seokwoo's, or have Seokwoo sleeping at his — but Seokwoo shakes his head, and declines the propositions. Drives Chanhee back home, then leaves after a brief conversation — Chanhee trying to convince him, saying he wouldn't mind at all — eventually accepting his answer, and letting him go, making him promise to call, or even drive to his apartment if something is wrong — seals the discussion with a kiss, and another, asks him to take care in a whisper before leaving.

Seokwoo doesn't call, doesn't ring his doorbell — texts him sorry, and thank you, then goes on radio silence. Makes Chanhee worry a little, but he assumes Seokwoo needs time, space. Wishes he'd spent the night, but cannot criticise him for wanting to be by himself — he knows himself, after all, knows his limits, and where Chanhee sees a pool of worries, Seokwoo might just see a puddle, might recover quicker than expected.

_ Perhaps it is a one time thing, _ Chanhee thinks as he goes to sleep, and takes one last look at his phone.  _ Perhaps it was just all too much. _

They don't really get to talk more about it: Seokwoo texts him in the morning, announces he's sick.  _ Sick as hell,  _ he tells him, and they don't see each other of the week, only get to call, once a few days later, during the evening, when Chanhee is bored and wants to listen to Seokwoo talk, and once before Youngkyun's surprise party, making idle conversation as Chanhee gets ready. 

'I wish you were there,' Chanhee murmurs, softly — wishes Seokwoo didn't hear it, but he does, chuckles fondly, even.

'In your heart, I am.'

Really cheesy, Chanhee says, and what was supposed to be a sweet conversation becomes unending teasing and jokes, snarky comments and tender comebacks.

'Have fun,' Seokwoo says, as Chanhee tells him he has to hang up, he has to go. 'Take care.'

Chanhee does — makes the most of the night as best as he can, not alone but not quite feeling fully happy. He has a blast anyway, because even if Seokwoo is not there, Youngkyun and Cie. remain his best friends — but he finds himself yearning for something when Juho and Inseong start whispering about home furniture, as Taeyang absent-mindedly grabs Youngkyun's hand, and as Youngbin, usually the most social of them all, forgets to answer here and there, too engrossed by the conversation he's having with god-knows-who. He feels lonely, just a little — wishes Seokwoo were there with him, not even as a partner, but simply by his side, a presence to comfort and reassure him, to lighten up his evening.

_ Do you want me to come by after the gathering,  _ he texts him in-between two slices of pizza — perfect mirror of Seokwoo two weeks before, and, ironically, because history only keeps repeating itself again and again, Seokwoo says no, tells him to go to sleep instead.

Has Chanhee feeling like he probably felt when Chanhee declined his offer then, and Chanhee feels stupid — knows Seokwoo has his reasons, knows it's none's fault, but he can't help but feel bad, comes home just a little miserable.

But Seokwoo isn't Chanhee — is himself, much more unpredictable and volatile, and he texts Chanhee on Sunday — asks him if it's possible for him to go back on his word, and invite him to his place.

'I'd like to have you around,' he says, a little clumsily, but Chanhee gets what he's trying to say, knows Seokwoo probably feels just like him — a little lonely and helpless, yearning to be held, and with him, safe and loved. Is comforted by this thought, and comes in the early afternoon.

He's never been to Seokwoo's apartment, hasn’t even seen pictures of it — Seokwoo gives him a quick tour, teal blanket wrapped around his shoulders, contrasting with all the wood here and there — the place looks rustic yet modern, a mix of vivid colours and muted tones. Unexpected of Seokwoo, and Chanhee tries to take it all in — doesn't manage to, especially once he's in Seokwoo's bed, glued to him and falling asleep by his side — but, he thinks as he leaves around seven, heart just a little bigger, dripping with warmth and an emotion Chanhee cannot quite word, he has time for that, has time to discover it again. He’s Seokwoo's, after all — and Seokwoo, no matter how short their relationship has been so far, is his too. And it would be a lie to say they have all the time in the world, with what they do and see every day — but in a way it is, and even if the earth will never stop spinning for them, their perception of time in itself changes when they're together. It is wrong to think like this, but deep down, Chanhee is a romantic — he allows himself to sink in this feeling, and enjoy it all.

⁂

Seokwoo lightly pushes Chanhee's head back, turns his face away so Chanhee can't reach it.

'No,' he says.

Chanhee rolls his eyes — jabs him in the ribs before going back to crouching in front of his TV set, where DVDs lie stacked upon each other.

'Then this one?' 

He's holding the first copy of  _ A Monster in the Valley, _ a movie he last saw when he was ten years old and wrongly thought he could withstand horror —  _ no!  _ Seokwoo says again, and Chanhee sighs.

'Then what do you want to watch? You have so much stuff in there — what do you even watch if none of these fits your tastes?'

Seokwoo gasps, gets overly offended (too much to be sincere) — points at Chanhee then his DVDs, tells him it's just a matter of moods.

'I'm human!' he argues when Chanhee rolls his eyes again, 'I have many shades of preferences!'

_ Indeed,  _ Chanhee replies — and, indeed: it takes them an additional fifteen minutes to settle on a movie, one that was very, very popular when they were teenagers.  _ Nights in the Library, _ which was guaranteed to have you laughing and shivering, which back then was the #1 hit movie when you wanted to watch something with a date. Which, in a way, would mean a lot about their situation if one of them cared to dig deeper — but neither of them does, and they simply take a seat on the couch, start the movie and begin their adult, mature date.

But Seokwoo is everything but mature: he's scared, like a kitten or a puppy, hiding behind Chanhee at every jumpscare, moaning every time the music gets more intense. Not that Chanhee really minds: although he wishes he could watch the movie peacefully, and make himself a fresher, better opinion of it, it means Seokwoo is clinging to him desperately, arms wrapped around his waist and face buried in the crook of his neck, refusing to let go of him, tightening his hold around him whenever something (anything) (nothing) happens.

'You see dead bodies on the daily, but a dark shape that goes  _ glurr-lulu-glurr  _ is what scares you,' Chanhee sighs during the break Seokwoo requested, waiting for his coffee to cool down.

'Don't mock me!' Seokwoo naturally leans against him, pats his thigh to make a point only he is aware of. 'I'm sensible.'

Chanhee doesn't even roll his eyes — nods and hums in agreement, ignores the warmth seeping through his jeans. Talks to distract himself, from the fact that he could easily kiss Seokwoo and push him down on the couch, from the fact that he's very, very close — closer than usual, just inches away — much too close for Chanhee's imagination, and his starved mind.

Somehow, their five minutes break becomes much longer, and they're still sitting around, talking when Chanhee finally takes a sip of his coffee — it's gone lukewarm, disgustingly in-between what's acceptable, and Chanhee pulls a face.

'This procrastination has gone for far too long,' he announces. Grabs the remote control and presses play — gets pulled into a chest and against a neck, as Seokwoo seizes the cursed control.

'Noooo.' The TV screen freezes on a frame of The Shape in the library — Seokwoo presses play again, just to get it out of the way, then presses pause once more when the movie cuts to the books on the shelves. 'I'm suggesting we do something else.'

'Coward,' Chanhee mutters — but Seokwoo's chest is nice, warm, and his neck smells really nice — he looks up, and accepts the offer.

'Then what do we do?'

The question has Seokwoo at a loss, looking for words and pulling back, opening and closing his mouth without any sound ever coming out — making a fool out of himself, and Chanhee pushes his head back. Doesn't expect Seokwoo to go down like that, but he does, and Chanhee forces himself to ignore the sudden power he has over him, looming over him while Seokwoo lies there, on his back, seemingly not motivated to sit up again.

'You're helpless,' he says — ignores the bit of skin the fall has revealed, tanned hip clashing with the white of Seokwoo's tee-shirt; focuses on his face and his face only, only safe place when Seokwoo is lying down like this, staring up at him without saying anything. 'You invite me over to watch a movie but don't want to watch it, have no plan B for this date at all?'

The words have Seokwoo blushing, turning his head away to avoid his gaze — how honest and devoid of artifice he is, Chanhee thinks. Stupidly endearing, and timid. They'd never make it to the wedding if they were planning to have one.

'Don't say that,' he casts a glance at Chanhee, looks away as soon as their eyes meet. 'It's hard.'

'What is?'

Seokwoo brings his hands to his chest, fiddles with them. Suddenly seems smaller and weaker, easy to tease and hard to ignore — Chanhee nibbles on his bottom lip, ignores the urge to pester him.

'Everything. With you.' Seokwoo finally dares to meet his eyes, blushes harder and forms a thin line with his lips. Seems to attempt to pull himself together — Chanhee can almost, almost hear his heartbeat, loud and scared — feels his reciprocating the action, running a marathon in his chest. 'It's harder with lines and rules properly set. I should have just gone for the kill — the kiss — at your apartment.'

_ How honest. _ Chanhee straightens himself up, forgets everything about the movie they should be watching. Can only focus on the blossoms in his chest, the sudden colours added to the tapestry his mind started threading weeks ago — is egoistic and wants to hear more, to know more.

'Then why didn't you?'

This time Seokwoo looks away, grumbles something in the pillow by his face. Shakes his leg, out of anxiety — gratefully accepts the hand Chanhee slides in his, intertwines their fingers, staring at them, pensive, timid.

'I wanted to be sure you wanted it.'

Unexpected answer. Chanhee thinks it through  —  pokes him in the ribs.

'I'd have kissed back if you’d gone for the kill, you know.'

'But what if you hadn't?'

Stupid question — Chanhee knows he would have, would have probably let him do whatever he wanted back then, would have done everything and anything to kiss him again.

And yet — he sees where Seokwoo is coming from, so clearly he's ashamed he didn't consider it. Why Seokwoo didn't kiss him then — why Chanhee never dared to confess, why it took him ages to realise he had feelings for Seokwoo. Reality, blinding him, and his perspective, twisting the little amount of light he could possess and blurring it, turning it into a different colour scheme, an entire other shape. It's so obvious — way too damn obvious, and yet Chanhee had never connected the dots — had never realised until now, that Seokwoo liking him means he might be just as scared as him, that he's not the only one not knowing what to do and how things work. Well, of course, the thought has crossed his mind - but thinking about it and witnessing it before his very eyes are two different things, very distanced from each other when you experience them both, and Chanhee doesn't quite know how to react, doesn't know how to say he would have, doesn't know how to turn back time, and skip Seokwoo's confession, instead pull him closer and initiate the kiss himself, to let him know he likes him, and wash away all his fears.

'I would have,' Chanhee mutters — unable to say anything else, to go back to where it all started.

He shifts in his seat — places his free hand on Seokwoo's hip, on his skin; bends down to kiss him. Stops centimeters away from his face, to gaze at him, to take in the sight before him. Isn't really looking for a sign — knows the sign itself is Seokwoo here, with him, reciprocating his feelings and confessing his fear — finally closes the remaining distance between them, and kisses him.

Like he's done before — yet everything feels new, fresh, as if this were their first time fully taking note of everything, as if they were discovering each other. They kiss, slowly — once, twice; many, many times — Seokwoo cups Chanhee's face then his neck, holds him by the waist and strokes his back — shivers when hunger gets the best of Chanhee, and has him sliding his hand under Seokwoo's tee-shirt, feeling the skin underneath and marvelling at how smooth it is, exactly the way he imagined it — sighs when Chanhee pulls back, and sits up to kiss him again, gripping his waist then his thigh, making the smallest sound when Chanhee's hand wanders down his back — finally rises when he's had enough, carries him to his room.

He's gentle, so gentle — precautious in the way he undresses Chanhee, shy as Chanhee takes off his shirt, his pants, his boxers.

'I'm scared,' he whispers as Chanhee kisses him for the nth time, hand wandering on his back, finding scars he had never heard about — caressing them, lovingly, filing them in a corner of his mind, one that has been blossoming since he's started dating Seokwoo.

Chanhee's heartbeat is erratic — is knocking against his ribcage so loudly Chanhee fears it might explode, might jump out of his chest and shatter in Seokwoo's hand — might give out right there and then, as his world finally seems to stop rocking, or at the very least rocks with him, in the same way as him, embracing him rather than pushing him away.

'I'm scared, too.'

It's liberating, being able to say it — finally wording it, and knowing Seokwoo understands, knowing he feels it too. Being understood, and mirrored — witnessing himself in Seokwoo, and knowing Seokwoo thinks the same, knowing their feelings, their embraces, become one, become something new entirely.

Seokwoo sits up, and cups his face — caresses his back, tenderly, pulls him closer. Smiles, and kisses him.

In his arms, Chanhee feels himself blooming.

⁂

'So,' Juho says at the other end of the phone, probably gazing at Inseong as he grades tests or watches TV. 'Seokwoo.'

Chanhee hears the victory in his voice — can see the slight smile on his face, can feel the happiness he's struggling to contain. God knows how he knows — he probably figured it out on his own, probably didn't need to ask around. A great thing about Juho: he Knows, whatever it is you hide — will hide it with you, just because he cares, because he somehow has a sixth sense and knows what's best for you before you.

A friend of gold — it is fitting, that he has a fulfilling life — the person upstairs must know he was born in heaven, and fell on earth as a kid, that he belongs to paradise and has been the kindest to humanity.

Chanhee smiles — leans on the balcony, and stares at the river underneath —- glowing as the sun sets, living just like always. He can almost hear Seokwoo calling his name, can almost feel his hand on his back, warm, secure, timidly pulling him closer — can almost picture him by his side, gazing at the view before them, like he did two weeks ago, loosely holding Chanhee's hand, stealing glances when he thought Chanhee wasn't looking. Feels his heart swell up, and warm the entirety of his soul, his body.

'Yeah,' Chanhee chuckles. Sees a smile, hands, a naked body in the river beneath the balcony, shaped by calm waves and his dreamy mind. Knows Juho is smiling at the other end of the phone, has probably got it all figured out. Smiles wider, knowing he personally doesn't, at all, and neither does Seokwoo. 

'Yeah.'

⁂

Seokwoo is bent over a map, apparently comparing roads and highways, probably trying to figure out which way would be the quickest — he lifts his head when Chanhee enters the car, grins when their eyes meet.

'I'm trying to figure out which way would be the quickest,' he explains after Chanhee greets him with a kiss, thanks him for waiting with another. 'The highway seems like it, definitely, but at this time of the day…'

He makes a face — glances at his phone then his map, tilts his head when his eyes meet Chanhee's.

'Let's go for the country roads,' Chanhee suggests — knowing that if he doesn't, Seokwoo will tergiversate and weigh even more pros and cons, will be unable to decide on his own.

The trip to the little restaurant Chanhee picked (noticed on the way to their crime scene) is peaceful — not quite quiet, the both of them exchanging anecdotes about their day and information about the case they're working on as Seokwoo drives, but most definitely serene, the sun preparing to set as they drive by houses and farms, silence filling some moments, leaving them to their own thoughts and privacy. It's late when they reach the restaurant, almost nine o'clock, and they hurry inside the small building, take place at a table by a window. They're served rather quickly, which surprises them both — but the quality of the food is divine, too divine to discuss trivial matters such as time and taste: they eat in silence, glances and grins enough to convey what they have on their mind, wordless conversations just as enjoyable as the ones that keep them up for hours.

'It's pretty, around here,' Seokwoo notes as they exit the restaurant.

Chanhee glances at his watch, and their surroundings — the fountain a few meters away, the church whose spine emerges from the houses and little shops nearby, the cats cleaning themselves on the roof of the bakery opposite them — he tugs on his arm, and wraps a loose hand around it.

'Wanna look around?'

He does — they wander here and there, into narrow streets and onto squares and playgrounds, stop to look at old buildings they don't often see back in the city, shops whose windows intrigue them — comment on this and that, enjoy the moment and nothing else.

'I like this,' Seokwoo says as they come across a dead end — hand in Chanhee's and letting Chanhee drag him around, as he looks for a place they haven't yet visited.

'The town? It's nice,' Chanhee nods — pulls Seokwoo into a narrow alley, much too small for him, forcing him to bend down.

They land in what appears to be an old street, an abandoned house towering over them at their left, the back of a closed bar at their left — all so lifeless, bins not even filled, the places clean like they were left behind just minutes ago — after them life goes on, lights turned on here and there, kids laughing in a backyard ahead.

'No. I mean, yes, but- I like all of this. Being with you, I mean. Alone in the open.'

Chanhee stops, sensing the hint of seriousness in Seokwoo's voice, the need to say  _ more. _ He turns to him.

'What do you mean? You…?'

'No,' Seokwoo immediately counters, 'no. Making it public can wait. But… I guess that's linked.' He tilts his head, smiles. Stares at Chanhee as if he were his entire world — pulls him closer. 'I like being out with you. Feeling like it's just the two of us out there, when it's really not at all but it feels like it anyway. Discovering things with you, I guess. Feeling like everything's fine.'

_ There's a dead body on my table and in your files,  _ is Chanhee's first thought — what he first thinks of saying, but it would really kill the mood — and it does not really matter anyway, not when Seokwoo is talking about them, and not work, what will be waiting for them tomorrow and every day after it. Nothing is fine in the world, nothing will really be — but in their bubble everything is alright, sunflowers grow even in the dark.

How long will it last, Chanhee wonders; how long until their bubble bursts, like so many people say it does after some time, how long until nothing is fine again, and cracks start to appear in the home they're building for themselves. The answer isn't written in Seokwoo's eyes — they hold only hope, and love, care, warmth — the desire to be by Chanhee's side, and every other feeling he cannot word, that he expresses through kisses, caresses, and little things. They hold nothing, but the present, full of dreams, and wishes, of a yearning heart osculating Chanhee's.

Perhaps, in this case, knowledge does not matter. Perhaps simply being there, living, loving, is enough. Chanhee doesn't know. Kisses Seokwoo anyway, and whispers that he loves him.

Seokwoo cups his face — beaming, blooming. He makes ignorance worthwhile, eclipsing everything else and making it become insignificant. He becomes an entire universe, one Chanhee belongs to, one that exists just for him. He holds him preciously, and lets out a laugh, euphoric.

'I love you too.'

⁂

Seokwoo is leaning against the doorframe, the yellow of his jumper an immobile spot of colour in the corner of Chanhee's eye as Chanhee reaches for the box above his shelf, tiptoeing and trying not to let out a noise that would indicate he's struggling.

'Need help?'

He's one second too late: Chanhee finally manages to grab the gift Juho entrusted him with, and is handing it to Seokwoo moments later.

'All good,' he smiles.

The weather is decent for a middle of winter: no snow, or wind, or even rain turning driving into a circle of hell of its own — simply the cold, and Chanhee finds it bearable as they walk to Seokwoo's car, parked a few minutes away because of the current work done on the parking lot of Chanhee's apartment.

'Might just be a good winter,' Seokwoo says absentmindedly, as he enters Youngbin's address into the gps.

The weatherman disagrees; announces that the upcoming night and following days will be much colder, thermometer dropping to the minus here and there — has Chanhee shivering just by hearing the forecast, suddenly feeling like he's freezing — laying his coat upon his chest, moving as little as possible to keep warm.

Youngbin's house, thankfully, is far from being cold — pleasantly warm, and surprisingly big, white walls with abstract paintings and concrete pictures hung here and there, stairs of oak and a muted decor, a brown couch and sandy bureau, countertop, dog.

'Cutie, cutie,' Seokwoo spends his entire time calling it, eager to pet and cuddle it — something the tiny ball of fluff is more than happy to allow, jumping and settling in his lap, earning herself a fond look from Jaeyoon.

'Inseong and Juho said they'll be late,' Youngbin announces after letting Youngkyun in, 'but that just gives us more time to surprise them.'

_ True,  _ Seokwoo agrees, and they spend their remaining time together planning the last few details they couldn't discuss or settle on. Jaeyoon, still not quite used to full gatherings with the entirety of them, is a little shy at first, but he makes logical comments, and Sanghyuk, always a fan of wits and great food, backs him up as soon as he and Taeyang arrive, always making sure he can make a point if he has one to make.

'Well, I think we're settled, then.'

Youngbin's words are followed by the bell ringing, and Chanhee feels the usual mix of excitement and anticipation flow into his veins — he gets just a little closer to Seokwoo, and squeezes his thigh, lightly, just enough to let him know, and being soothed by a caress, Seokwoo's hand patting his back twice before retreating back to secrecy.

The evening, gathering, goes just as planned, Inseong looking at them all with starry eyes throughout the night, Juho’s proposal putting a part of the universe into his eyes — Juho tearing up when Inseong pulls out a gift of his own, a golden pendant representing a bouquet, along with a small note that asks him to marry him.

'I knew you were going to propose,' he explains, laughing when Juho makes a face and burrows his head in his chest, pure soul surprised by the love someone else has for him. 'But I wanted to let you pick the ring.'

_ How adorable,  _ Sanghyuk mouths, sarcastic — but he doesn't say it, keeps the tease for himself and lets them have their moment, lets them savour it fully.

Inseong's ring is pretty — a simple silver halo, contrasting with his skin, embellishing his long fingers and catching everyone's eye, making Juho giggle whenever he glances at it. Chanhee finds himself gazing at it throughout the night, enjoying the way it wraps perfectly around Inseong's finger, the sensation it procures — the joy of seeing his friends get just a little further in life, the oddity that is having his best friend engaged. Not that Juho was ever single, Inseong already his boyfriend when Chanhee had first stepped foot into the center — but it is different, to witness his love like this, to have it worn proudly and displayed — Chanhee is not yet familiar with this, and he's impressed, curious. Feels like he's beholding it all, spectator pleased with what's unravelling on-stage, content with knowing his friends are happy.

'They're cute,' Seokwoo says as they drive back home, cheeks just a little flushed with the heat of the car, and the energy the night asked of him. 'They deserve the very best.'

Chanhee agrees — thinks that it feels like everything has changed, tells so to Seokwoo.

'Doesn't it?' Seokwoo smiles. 'We're all growing and evolving.'

_ And so much more _ — memories flood Chanhee's mind, from the first time he set foot into the centre to when he met all of them, passing by his first case in this city and his first meeting outside of work. So many things that have changed since then — his office, the labs' equipment; the courts and space 12, where they meet up and who accompany them. Life itself, happening right before —  _ with —  _ them.

'Do you wanna sleep at mine today?' Seokwoo says, as he reaches the traffic light near his apartment building. 'It's cold, out there.'

Chanhee accepts the offer — can recognise a bogus excuse when he sees and hears one, but ignores it, wanting to sleep with Seokwoo just as much as Seokwoo wants to spend the night by his side — hurries into his apartment to grab a few things here and there, and makes himself at home, later, as Seokwoo finishes to get ready for bed.

Seokwoo either sleeps with an overwhelming amount of blankets or overwhelmingly thick pajamas, but on this night he's simply wearing a jumper and sweatpants, and he's sacrificed the blanket at the very top of his pile, counterbalancing the cold these decisions bring about by cuddling up to Chanhee, head burrowed in the crook of his neck and arms wrapped around his waist, his hair lightly tickling Chanhee, his grip loosening as he falls asleep.

Chanhee doesn't find sleep as easily — somehow struggles to doze off, and has to distract himself for a while — thinks of the evening and Youngbin's dog, of Juho's ring and the strange red noodles Jaeyoon had cooked for dinner. Thinks of Seokwoo; pets his hair absentmindedly as his thoughts go from this to that — listens to his even breathing, and focuses on his chest, rising and falling peacefully — on how tall he is, and how small he himself is in his arms; how warm he is against him, and how nice it is to be holding him, human-sized star that clings to him, that refuses to orbit anything else. 

_ I love you, _ he thinks as Seokwoo sniffles in his sleep, and hugs him tighter — starts wondering how his night would be without him by his side —

Falls asleep, then, and wakes up to the smell of coffee floating in the apartment. Ignores the mug Seokwoo lays on the bedside table, and pulls him into bed, makes him laugh when he nestles against him.

'Cutie,' Seokwoo whispers, fonder than when he was calling after Princesse; quieter, his mouth upon Chanhee's forehead — he sighs, happily, and rests his head against Chanhee's, lightly squeezes his waist. 'Cutest.'

Chanhee could argue forever on this matter, could counter Seokwoo's words and start a light bickering — but Seokwoo's embrace is comfortable, lulls him into a future, a present pleasant to drown in — he ignores everything, and closes his eyes.

'Yours,' he whispers.

A hand travels up his back, underneath his tee-shirt and on his skin — Chanhee shivers, and makes a pleased sound, as the hand caresses his shoulder blades and the space just beneath his nape.

'Yes,' Seokwoo says. 'My cutie.'

Chanhee smiles, does not argue — he is, after all.

⁂

'... but I don't know if I can make it. Defense is doing pretty well, nowadays. much better than I wish they did.' Sanghyuk brushes his hair back, looks human for a millisecond. 'God, I hate lawyers who stand for corruption. This isn't justice at all.'

Chanhee watches as Youngkyun reaches out to pat Sanghyuk's wrist, leaning back against the bookcase.

'Is there anything we can do?'

Sanghyuk chuckles, dryly — takes a bitter sip of coffee before looking up.

'Not at all. It's between the law and me, babe.'

_ That sucks a lot,  _ Youngkyun says — Sanghyuk takes it as a conclusion to this conversation, and he asks them about their day. He does not rant often, especially not when he's still in his office — but he has The Look on his face and Chanhee assumes, knows, that he'll be calling one of them later at night, when it’ll get too much for his heart and his mind, when he'll need to share the burden with someone who will listen. Chanhee wonders who will be the chosen one — hope, in a way, that one of them  _ will _ be called — Sanghyuk's worst days are when he is silent, and impossible to reach.

'I understand,' Seokwoo says, later on the phone, after listening to Chanhee confess his worries — voice warm like a blanket, embracing Chanhee even when he's miles away. 'He worries me too.'

_ He's been hard to catch, nowadays,  _ he continues, and they talk, talk, talk about Sanghyuk — mostly discuss that he's a person of his own, and that it's not the first time he does this — still agree on the fact that neither of them enjoys this, that any case that involves corruption and cover ups are poison for him.

'I mean, they're poison for me too; for all of us,' Seokwoo sighs — Chanhee can almost see him rub his left temple, is sure his forehead is all wrinkled with exhaustion and resignation. 'But they eat at him in a very special way.'

Chanhee agrees — finds himself discussing the pain their jobs bring to them with Seokwoo, the never-ending spiral of emotional torture they willingly put themselves in. But only lightly, only on the surface: Seokwoo mentions victims, and Chanhee mentions details that stuck with him throughout the years — but neither of them digs deeper, offers the reasons why all of this harmed and scarred them — they talk, and listen, and in a way know there is more — yet overlook it, for a reason Chanhee could not explain, could not even name.

Perhaps it's the fright, of admitting that not every day is pink and sunny, that some (many) things go wrong from time to time. Admitting they are fragile too, no better than any other human, and that no matter what they see and have to do, they remain simple living beings, easily hurt and broken. Admitting to themselves, that on some days they are not doing well, and that death, misery, reaches them too, touches them and sometimes clings to them. Surrendering the power others think they have, and being human, no better than anyone else.

'I'm going to sleep,' Seokwoo announces as the clock's little hand reaches eleven — Chanhee is sitting in bed, and undoing the little folds the person before him at the library did to the corners of  _ Leopards and Handbags _ ' pages, idly turning the pages and catching a few words here and there.

'Alright.' Chanhee leans back against his pillows, opens the book to the first chapter. 'Do you… Do you want to sleep here when you come back? Since Monday is a holiday.'

_ You could spend the weekend here,  _ his suggestion means — Seokwoo catches it, and mutters a yes, says he'll be there around nine.

'I wish I could come earlier, but with how busy the city is nowadays…'

'It's fine,' Chanhee mutters — makes sure to reassure Seokwoo, telling him time doesn't matter, only his presence does.

Seokwoo thanks him — is silent for a few seconds, then tells him he loves him, talks some more then wishes him a good night before hanging up, finally surrendering to sleep.

_ Leopards and Handbags  _ is oddly serious — mixes honesty and loyalty in an unrealistic world, completely unexpected, and surprises Chanhee at every sentence. It's fun, in a macabre way, just the kind of literature Chanhee likes to read — Chanhee has reached more than a third of the book when sleepiness gets the best of him, and he doesn't even bother putting it back on his side table, instead laying it on the pillow at his right, tiny replacement of Seokwoo.

His phone buzzes just as he's about to fall asleep — he paws here and there until he reaches it, and glances at the text with one eye, worry not quite able to pull him out of drowsiness. It's not much anyway, not a call to a crime scene or someone announcing something happened to them — it's Youngkyun, updating him on the Sanghyuk situation.

_ He called,  _ his text simply says — Chanhee smiles, and sends a thumbs up; lays his phone back on the bedside table, and burrows his face in his pillow. He falls asleep almost immediately.

⁂

Seokwoo pecks Chanhee on the forehead, strokes his face as he pulls back, staring at him with shiny eyes.

'Tonight, alright?'

Chanhee smiles — stands on his tip toes, and kisses Seokwoo — remains close after pulling back, in their bubble of serenity, where they reign as kings; arms wrapped around Seokwoo's waist, and very much in love.

'Yes.'

⁂

It's everything Chanhee feared: everything that kept him awake at some point in the last one year and a half, everything that invaded his dreams and turned them into nightmares — everything that had him retreating, staring at the void his thoughts created, trying not to slip off the thin edge of security he stood on. It's everything he knew could happen, and nothing he wished to see become tangible — everything he hates, everything that makes him feel like this might just end badly, this might just leave them broken and ultimately lower than they once were — eternally crushed, and missing pieces of their hearts, of themselves.

'Hi,' Seokwoo says — croaks, sounding like a toad reaching the end of its life — looking the part, too, paler than he usually is, bags under his eyes, the smile he's attempting to make much weaker than he probably thinks it is.

Chanhee doesn't really know what to do, what to say — a thousand thoughts crash against each other in his mind, and none of them really has a clue on the situation — they simply scream at each other, fail to see the point in calming down — panic, and panic, no matter what Chanhee sees and can recognise, danger once present but now gone, life rather than death. They don't know anything — have Chanhee feeling like the situation is worse than it truly is, and pulling on his heart, making it realise it is fragile, and oh-so scared.

Chanhee walks up to Seokwoo — softly takes his hand in his when he reaches his hospital bed — presses it, to comfort himself, to quiet his distressed thoughts — to calm his heart, and reassure it, giving it confirmation that everything, in a way, is fine.

And nothing is, in the grand scheme of things, everything is going to hell and so much more — but for now time has stopped, for now — they breathe and live, dread no more what is bound to happen.

_ You scared me,  _ Chanhee whispers — Seokwoo apologises, and intertwines their fingers — explains what happened, why he's in this bed rather than back at the station, why stitches occupy his chest rather than the tee-shirt he was wearing earlier. It's so banal, so stupid — Chanhee has heard this kind of story before, has seen it on the news or overheard an officer mention getting hurt on duty. It's not out of norms, not uncommon at all — but  _ Seokwoo _ is the one lying on a hospital bed — not a nameless officer from a part of the station Chanhee barely visits; not an unnamed cop he has never heard about. It's Seokwoo, that lies there before him, stitched up and thankfully alive — the man he loves, someone whom he's been growing fonder of everyday — a mighty part of his heart, more than Chanhee would like to admit — someone without whom Chanhee would be lost, whose eternal absence is scarier than anything Chanhee has ever met until then. His lover — it's hard, to know what to think and do, when faced with such things, death and its cold comrades, life and how independent it is. Seokwoo, and how ephemeral he,  _ they,  _ are — how nothing is in their control, and their lives is an improvised spectacle that unravels without ever asking for their opinion, that sometimes even makes them spectators — how insignificant they are, and their hopes, dreams and prospects are rarely taken into consideration by life.

Chanhee has heard many times that it is what makes life beautiful. That unpredictability is the gift that is given when one is born, that at the end of the day, freedom is what leads and rules someone. Chanhee disagrees — thinks it is the opposite of freedom to be led by something else than oneself, thinks the concept of life is poorly executed. But there is nothing to be done, nothing that can fix it — if anything, he can only congratulate and thank Seokwoo for making it out of his dangerous fight; because life itself does not care and does whatever it wants, but Chanhee has the right to be grateful nevertheless, to thank pure luck, and a tiny hint of skills, for letting Seokwoo live.

Making Seokwoo promise he'll always be fine is impossible, they both know this. But Chanhee thanks him — tells him he did well, and strokes his hair, cups his face, holds him preciously. Stays with him until the nurse announces it is time for him to leave, that Seokwoo needs to rest and recover.

'I love you,' Chanhee says as he's departing — three words out in the open, when a million more burn the tip of his tongue with the need to be expressed, when a billion of them flood and crash and shatter into a thousand more in his mind. So much left unsaid — but Chanhee thinks Seokwoo knows, believes that he understands. Thinks that, somehow, they have time — knows that it's an illusion, that they don't — but he promises himself to tell him everything when it'll only be the two of them, safe in bed or at the very least in each other's arms —

Or when the clock hits one o'clock, and Chanhee, unable to sleep, decides to pour out his feelings in a text, because he's incredibly scared, and he wants Seokwoo to know, everything and anything, his heart and his feelings. Because everything they imagine is indeed an illusion, and Chanhee thinks they're old enough to be able to handle being tangled up, intertwined and leaning on each other. Might be making a mistake, but it is the last thing on Chanhee's mind when he presses the send button, and it's with a relieved mind, a soothed heart that he goes to sleep.

_ Chanhee, precious Chanhee. Lovely Chanhee. My love. It took me a very, very long time to know what to answer, and how to say it — you sent your text ten hours ago, and I spent the last one hundred and eighty minutes debating with myself, writing and erasing (erasing everything). We love each other, so in a corner of my mind I thought I should not reply with something equally as long as your message — but it wouldn't be fair, when you were this honest with me, and when you deserve much more than a few words. I love you, Chanhee. Truly. Dearly. You said you were starting from the end, and couldn't make sense of your points, and your words — I understood them all, understood everything, but here is my reply, going from a to b to c, trying its very best to follow a meticulous plan. This is the introduction, and after telling you I love you once again, we will begin point a. _

_ I love you. Now, shall we? _

⁂

The water flowing out from the tap makes a harmonious sound as it falls into the wine glass Chanhee is holding, and Chanhee twirls it a few more times than necessary, listens to the gentle music created by the simplest movements. Something he used to do back in middle school, that still amuses him to this day — one that annoys Jaeyoon, and has him grumbling about how it's bad for the glasses to do this, but it always fascinates Seokwoo, always has him staring at Chanhee as if he were a very skilled magician — making the erosion of every wine glass Chanhee has ever washed worth it.

'You really don't have to.'

Inseong lays a hand on Chanhee's back, grabs a plate to wipe it with the dish towel hanging by the oven.

'I don't mind.' Chanhee shrugs. 'And if it helps, too…'

_ Still,  _ Inseong insists,  _ you really don't have to  _ — but he lets Chanhee finish his chore, wipes, dries every thing Chanhee cleans — is quiet, peaceful, a presence Chanhee rather enjoys, and they fall in rhythm easily, remain in the kitchen even after they're done.

'I didn't get to say it,' Inseong says, at some point, arms crossed and turning to Chanhee after staring at the void for a few moments, 'but congratulations to Seokwoo and you. Even though I already knew. Glad you guys are public now.'

Chanhee blushes — feigns looking at the sink, wiping a fictional spot, frowning to cover up the embarrassment painting his face. His former relationships had never prepared him for making everything official — and in a way, he really wishes he did not have to do it with Seokwoo, but he imagines it is how adulthood, sometimes, might go (at the very least, this is how his is going.)

'Thanks.' A pause, then the need to justify himself,  _ themselves,  _ to add more and explain it all. 'We were planning on announcing it during the pre-birthday dinner back then, but… you know, getting stabbed…'

'It changes things a bit?'

'Yeah. You could say that.'

Chanhee remembers — still wonders how things would have gone, if the 'surprise' hadn't been foiled — if Seokwoo hadn't asked Youngkyun to call him asap in-between what seemed back then like two dying breaths; if Youngbin hadn't appeared at the hospital two days later, while Chanhee was dozing off, holding Seokwoo's hand, face pillowed in his cardigan; if Sanghyuk hadn't rung Seokwoo's phone while he was sleeping, back when Chanhee was staying at his apartment during his recovery, and Chanhee (who Knew Sanghyuk already knew) had had to whisper the news to him. If life had gone his way — but it never did. At the very least, the small mercy had been that there was no stress announcing it, no awkward speech to explain it all.  _ We're dating,  _ they'd simply said, worried, sleepy, hushed — very anticlimactically, but Chanhee had found, as he lay in Seokwoo's bed, listening to his deep, even breathing, that it had been easier this way, that he actually didn't mind. Of course, he would have appreciated it if everything had gone smoothly, cleanly — but life hadn't allowed them to choose, and so he carried on, slightly saddened but in the end relieved, already thinking about something else.

At the end of the day, life has been helpful — left Seokwoo with a nasty scar in exchange for her services, but that is something Chanhee does not mind at all. Just one more thing to idly caress when Seokwoo is still sleeping, as Chanhee stares at him enamoured; one more thing to tease him on, when Chanhee asks him to do something and Seokwoo retorts he cannot, he's a sick soldier.

'Sick soldier, my ass,' is Chanhee's most common answer, before he pokes Seokwoo in the head, and they bicker like kids on a playground. Before they argue back and forth jokingly, before Seokwoo leans forward or pulls Chanhee to his lap, before Chanhee kisses Seokwoo and slides a hand under his tee-shirt — before all they care about is each other and how good the skin, the heat of one feels against the other's chest, under his fingers; before nothing apart from the two of them matters.

Seokwoo's scar is one more thing to kiss; to map when Chanhee sets about on the great exploration of Seokwoo's body, when they're making love — when  _ Chanhee  _ is making love to Seokwoo, and wants him to know he's beautiful, he's loved, wants to praise every bit of him. It's one more thing to caress as his eyes are locked with Seokwoo's, before his hand wanders somewhere else, up or down, on his chest or his hip, pulling him forward or using him as a support — one more detail, to linger on and point out, to register and take in fully — one more thing that defines Seokwoo, and that Chanhee loves, no matter what, no matter how ugly someone else could find it. It's, in a way, his — his to behold and his to compliment, his to cherish and care about, to love when Seokwoo rejects it, when Seokwoo feels unattractive or down, when his mind whispers lies to him, and blows cracks in his confidence, steals a piece here and there — or simply when Chanhee wants to, when he wishes to lay the top part of his feelings bare, when his heart gets a little ahead of him, and says everything he does not dare to word; when it all gets a little too much, and all he can do is touch Seokwoo, to convey everything he fails to express, to tell him everything, everything, everything and anything. 

Chanhee, for his part, does not have much scars to present to Seokwoo: only one, from a botched blood test when he was seventeen; and another, thin crescent beneath his popliteal fossa, consequence of childhood and the games considered fun back then, climbing trees and biking straight into bushes.

But he has a few moles, here and there, that Seokwoo likes to map — and other places, anywhere else, where nothing is, Seokwoo creates, shapes into life — traces and builds, becomes a smitten architect, tender, gentle; illogical in the structures he creates, and awful at tracing it over. But he's lovely, and does his very best — Chanhee; building, structure, sculpture just as enamoured, cannot find the strength to correct Seokwoo when he traces an impossible path, when the figures at the end of his fingers simply make no sense. It is the thought that counts, many say — and Seokwoo has the best intentions, the purest soul Chanhee has ever had the luck to witness. Chanhee very rarely says it, shy and scared it'll sound odd, questionable — but tonight he does, in-between kisses and caresses, as Seokwoo holds him like he's the entire world, his entire universe.

'Cheesy,' Seokwoo whispers — kisses him back, and rests his forehead against his for a millisecond; pours all of his love into the caresses that follow. Pulls Chanhee down, hovering over him, and comes down to kiss his face.

'I love you,' he says against his lips, as he interlaces their fingers together — his other hand gliding over Chanhee's thigh, hip, sliding underneath his back.

Chanhee replies with a sigh — tells Seokwoo he loves him back with kisses and touches, locking his arms around his neck, arching his back and surrendering to the sensations engulfing him — buries himself in his arms once he can see something else than stars, shivers when Seokwoo embraces him.

Seokwoo talks, murmurs things — that Chanhee is precious and that Seokwoo is glad to be his, that nothing could make him happier than this moment.

'Perhaps what will come tomorrow,' he declares, always the optimist, believing in the both of them more than the piousest man believes in God — lulling Chanhee to sleep with his sweet words, his tender beliefs.

It's a quiet night for Chanhee's subconscious: mostly dark, thoughtless; and when he dreams it's in fragments, burning coffee he dips his fingers in, that does everything but hurt him; a black cat sprawled upon a couch he has never seen before; streets he has never walked, never even encountered. Seokwoo is already awake when he rises, making coffee, writing down things he'll need to buy when he'll go grocery shopping later in the day — he smiles when Chanhee enters the room, plants a kiss on his forehead. Wishes him good morning, and wraps an arm around his waist when Chanhee leans against him, his head on his shoulder, his entire weight on one foot — holds him, gently, without rushing him to wake up — Chanhee closes his eyes, and sees nothing — the world he imagines when he is alone is beside him, and its gravity, truth and not at all fiction, keeps him grounded, will perhaps even stop him from swaying.

Seokwoo is always optimistic — for once, Chanhee will be the same.

⁂

Chanhee's room hasn't changed much since he left: only a few knick-knacks that used to be here and there that have now been sold; the dinosaur pillows that Chanhee took with him when he moved into his first flat, and that have been with him since then, now replaced by simple black ones, soft, fuzzy to the touch; the basket of laundry, that was once constantly full, and never seemed to lose mass, now gone, into another room, or in the garage, its first function having disappeared a while ago now. But the books he had settled on not taking with him before moving to university; the old poster of  _ Saru, Son of the Whales _ he had hung when he was thirteen; the teddy bear his mother had gifted him when he was ten, are still there, piled up on his desk; glaring at Chanhee as he stands before it; in Seokwoo's hand as they (he) looks around, takes in the very obsolete sight.

'Cute,' Seokwoo concludes, after looking at everything — finishing this conversation to start another one, one that will probably be full of questions and observations, as Seokwoo examines the room.

As expected, Chanhee is right — finds himself explaining parts of his life as Seokwoo points at this and that, as he tries to feign Just Noticing things. As always, he is an amazing investigator, talented, skilled — but awful at lying, at acting like he doesn't know, isn't sure or aware of things.

Somehow, Seokwoo ends up on his bed — Chanhee sits at his desk, in his old chair that has since then aged, become uncomfortable, and the whiplash of it all is a lot: it's like suddenly he's sixteen all over again, too shy to approach the boy a few years older than him, that he'd really like to date — to kiss, maybe, if the boy were to be patient with him, and teach him how kisses work. He feels like a teenager, in love with the concept of dating, and having his curiosity satiated — except he's no longer curious, no longer lonely — the boy he dreamt of is his, and he's not at all fiction, most definitely reality; lies in his bed and flips through an old comics of his, is sweeter and tender than Chanhee wished him to be. He's one call, one touch of the hand away — he lifts his head when Chanhee clears his throat, and fondly gazes at him as he explains something. In love, this boy is — he kisses him on the cheek when Chanhee's mother calls them down, and laughs as he's shown embarrassing childhood pictures, from five year old Chanhee running down a hill to way-too-old-for-pretending-to-be-a-paleontologist-cowboy Chanhee pretending to be just that, plastic bone in his right hand while he holds a whip in the left one, gazing charismatically at the camera.

'My intent was to give you copies,' Chanhee's mother explains, all smiles while Chanhee has his face buried in his arms, too ashamed to be mentally present to this circus, 'but it would be a waste of paper if you guys didn't last — and also, everything goes through screens, nowadays, doesn't it? As for now, text us, and we'll send you everything you want.'

Seokwoo takes the offer a little too seriously — makes a list of all the pictures he'd like to own on his phone, has Chanhee suddenly wishing they hadn't come to visit at all. He's still giggling as they're driving home, eyes glued to the pictures he's receiving.

'You were the cutest monkey,' he says fondly, picture of five year old Chanhee dressed as a chimpanzee for some school party he's now mostly forgotten about on the screen of his phone.

'Oh, please. Stop this madness.'

_ Or we never go to my parents' on Christmas to avoid seeing your family and your cousins again, _ he threatens — but Seokwoo doesn't care, keeps laughing and cooing at young Chanhee.

'Your eyes are still so big. So pretty.' 

Chanhee rolls his eyes — fond.

'They gotta be. To take in all that shine of yours.'

Seokwoo snorts, leans back in the passenger seat.

'Ah, yes. Fated to be together. Your big eyes and my ineffable beauty. It all makes sense.'

'Yeah.'

None of them means it, but it's funny, brings smiles to their faces — carries on throughout what's left of the evening, the night. Lasts a little more than that, and somehow never gets old, never has Chanhee sighing. The thought of fate is, to him, very stupid — and pop psychology would disagree, but that's an interest Chanhee lost long ago, and doesn't intend on picking up again.

Together, they laugh.

⁂

'No, go back to sleep.'

Chanhee doesn't listen — plops down next to Seokwoo on the sofa, curls up to him and rests his head on his shoulder. Waits and waits and waits, and when nothing happens he slides his hand under his, covers it with his free one.

'Tough day at work?'

Seokwoo sighs — the meal he microwaved lies unfinished on the table, the cutlery is half falling out of the plate, and he's still wearing his scarf, still wearing his glasses.

'Yeah.'

He leans his head against Chanhee's, sighs again and again — remains silent and squeezes Chanhee's hand to communicate. Doesn't manage to express everything, but it doesn't matter: Chanhee presses back every time, and doesn't move an inch.

'I'm here,' he whispers, quietly, as Seokwoo lets out a particularly deep, heavy breath.

It's all that matters.

⁂

Chanhee stands in his living-room, holding the wooden spoon he's been using to stir the pasta he’s making, staring at Seokwoo as he wonders whether or not now is the good time to do this.

'Are you still upset?'

Seokwoo looks up, sighs when his eyes meet Chanhee. Unknowingly beckons him closer, with his demeanour and sad eyes, and, as soon as Chanhee is close enough, he leans his head on Chanhee's stomach, traces gentle circles on his thigh.

'I'm not.' Sad, pitiful tone — Chanhee cannot resist petting his hair, undoing its tangles and simply comforting him — at the end of the day, this is what this is about. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it. I just… I didn't have the clarity of mind to word it correctly.'

'I know.'

Seokwoo sighs, again — wraps his long, long arms around Chanhee's legs, makes himself smaller, fragile companion who does not know how to handle everything — whose shoulders are not quite enough for the weight the world is laying on them. Chanhee doesn't know if his own shoulders, back are enough for this — but he's willing to try, wants to be there anyway. Even if it means letting go of some of his free time, of some joy he could be experiencing in this exact moment — even if it means sometimes admitting he's wrong, sometimes bending to Seokwoo's thoughts, decisions, vision. He minds, but Seokwoo cares just as much as him, is willing to do,  _ does,  _ the exact same things — they compromise, together, and find a middle ground they can settle on, one that, as time goes by, satisfies the both of them, shapes something of its own — their union, and, though it takes times, Chanhee thinks he might just actually see it, might just actually be able to touch it and taste it.

Seokwoo lifts his chin, rests it upon Chanhee's stomach.

'Can we talk about this during dinner?'

'Yes.' Chanhee's thumb grazes Seokwoo's cheekbone — Seokwoo leans into the touch, and almost smiles. 'Yes.'

⁂

Piles of books lay on the floor, piles of clothes lay on the couch, plastic bags lay on the coffee table; and Seokwoo, master of the entire chaos, stands in the room, the list of the things he took with him in hand, rummaging through this pile and that bag as he looks for this object and that thing. Has Chanhee wanting to pull his hair out at the absolute mess, but going bald would not help at all — Chanhee steps forward, lays a hand on Seokwoo's lower back.

'Looking for something?'

_ Yes,  _ Seokwoo replies, and starts explaining he can't find a pair of socks he really likes, grey backgrounds with the face of Santa Claus on it, birthday gift from Juho back when he was going through a heavy Christmas phase (heavier than now). Chanhee has seen them, numerous times — finds them ugly as hell, and wouldn't really mind if Seokwoo actually lost them, but they're dear to Seokwoo — they look for it together — give up after many minutes of failure, and eventually find them hours later, once every piece of clothing of Seokwoo is folded in Chanhee's wardrobe; his shoes are by the front door; his laptop and pieces of furniture here and there, not quite settled for now; and his mug, a black piece of pottery with blue flowers painted on it, is in the kitchen sink, right next to Chanhee's flamboyant red one, both waiting to be washed.

'Are you sure you don't mind?'

Chanhee rolls his eyes — refrains from saying this is the fifth time Seokwoo is asking this today. Snakes his arms around his waist instead, and struggles to rest his chin on his shoulder.

'No. I like this.'

Seokwoo cranes his neck — stupid grin on his face, stupid joke probably on the tip of his tongue. And, as expected:

'You like me being homeless and having to move in with you because of work being done in my building?'

Chanhee rolls his eyes, again — decides to play this game and smiles widely, presses Seokwoo against his chest. 

'Absolutely. I'm actually the one who ordered the renovation of the entire thing. You've caught me red-handed.'

'Knew it. Knew my landlord wasn't the kind of man to ask for it himself.'

'But I am. And, look — I'm even taking you in. What do we say when this happens?'

'Nothing.' Seokwoo smiles, twists a little in Chanhee's arms, just enough to be able to tilt his chin up. 'We kiss.'

Not really what Chanhee expected, but he melts against Seokwoo's lips anyway, into his arms and against his chest. Lets Seokwoo take the lead and lift him up, carrying him into the living room, sitting him down on the bar.

'You know we don't have time for this,' Chanhee says, before kissing Seokwoo back, briefly, gently.

'I do.' A peck. 'I know.' Another peck. 'But let me savour your kindness and devotion.'

For the nth time of the day, Chanhee rolls his eyes — and, as Seokwoo kisses him one more time — for the nth time of the day, he lets everything slide.

⁂

There's been a murder. violent, of a fourteen years old girl — strangled by her father, mutilated by her mother. Appalling — Chanhee can barely manage to examine her, can barely manage to keep calm as he fills the innocent soul's file. It's all so cruel, so frighteningly real — a reminder of how vile people can be, of life being pure luck and nothing else.

'I'm repulsed,' Chanhee announces during lunch, eating — trying to eat, with Youngbin and Nasir. 'I've had enough.'

He texts the same thing to Juho, tells Youngkyun and Sanghyuk something along those lines during a phone call.

He means it: is fed up with the way the world spins, the way some systems favour the powerful over the poor and innocent, the way evil manages to seep into the tiniest crack of the most secure castle. Has been feeling this way for years now, but just like then — as he lies in bed at night, and the only thoughts he has concern the young victim; as he rises the next morning — he knows that if he stops, it'll ruin him, that all the people he would not help, all the deaths he would not solve, all the lives he would not save, would haunt him until death, would follow him into the afterlife. No matter what, he's stuck doing this job, because now that he's had a taste of this life, he cannot ignore it, cannot simply overlook what it encompasses. He feels like the world needs him —

and even if it didn't,  _ he _ would need it, tiny ant sucked in its system long ago, gearwheel of the machine, who only has one goal. Chanhee wonders, sometimes, if that just doesn't demonstrate what he thinks of himself, and how he sees his life — if he wants to feel, to be important, if he yearns to have an impact on humanity — in a way, to be immortal.

He doesn't know, doesn't know at all — can never reach a conclusion no matter how often he might think about it, no matter how long his introspections last. He's himself, Kang Chanhee, simple human doomed to die and at some point be forgotten, to lead a life that in the end will make a microscopic change to the timeline of humanity. He's not much, not much at all — just like the girl lying in one of his fridges; a simple soul, one that does not stand out from the masses, that just exists, that will vanish into nothingness after a while. He's himself — no more than that, no less than that.

The parents get condemned — get sent to prison, and the public congratulates everyone who worked against the criminals, considers them all heroes and praises them greatly. 

_ Until we do one bad step and they decide to hate us,  _ Chanhee can hear Sanghyuk say. He smiles, bitterly. He's an ant that will have no impact on the long, long string of humanity — but that will impact everything in his vicinity, and leave no stone unturned. And he's no master of the consequences of his acts, no master of what each of his breaths will trigger.

And perhaps when he'll die — his heart stopping to beat will trigger something too, just like how his victim's death started many things.

He takes one last look at her picture, frozen in time on his autopsy table, fallen angel who could not survive earth's slight difference with paradise. Closes it, and puts it away in the archives, where none will ever touch it again.

'Case closed.'

⁂

Seokwoo brushes Chanhee's hair back, adjusts the plaid wrapped around his shoulders.

'I'll call the date off, then.'

Chanhee's heart hurts, just a little; sinks in his chest: Seokwoo doesn't even sound resigned — declarative, only, and fine with weeks of planning going out the window, not minding throwing his hard work into the trash can Chanhee created — a gem, unknowingly precious and stupidly selfless, foolishly inestimable.

'I can go. Just let me take a nap for a few, and I'll be up for it.'

Seokwoo smiles, softly, fondly — endeared, but much wiser than Chanhee.

'You're sick. I'll cancel.'

_ I can hang in there,  _ Chanhee says,  _ it would not be the first time. _ But Seokwoo, gentle, caring Seokwoo, does not appreciate the idea at all.

'But,' Chanhee argues weakly as Seokwoo, phone in hand, is preparing to call the restaurant, 'it's our anniversary.'

Seokwoo pauses, mid-typing — tilts his head, ever so slightly. Sits back down, and, once again, brushes Chanhee's hair back.

'Baby.' His eyes wander on Chanhee's face, linger on every inch, every thought that crosses his mind. 'I know it's important to you — it is also for me, but… you're sick. What would be the point in celebrating if you're not in the mood for it?'

'But I'm in the mood for it.'

Seokwoo smiles, reasonable adult who knows better than to yield to (Chanhee knows) a childish wish.

'And your body? Is it in the mood for it? Your fever? Your sore muscles?'

Chanhee has to surrender; has to allow Seokwoo to win this argument. He sinks a little in the couch, and shakes his head, mutters that no, his body is not up for it at all.

'I feel awful,' he whispers, as quietly as possible, hoping Seokwoo won't catch it — but Seokwoo hears it, pets his hair to congratulate him for saying the truth.

'I'll cook something,' Seokwoo says. 'I'll cancel the restaurant and I'll make some soup. Then we can spend the night in bed. Not the best way to celebrate our three years, I know,' he immediately adds as Chanhee opens his mouth, 'but it's what you need. And we can always reschedule something once you feel better.'

'... Alright.'

Seokwoo always makes ceding feel like a victory: always takes care of Chanhee when he caves in, makes the slight loss of pride feel like the biggest win of the year. This time, he pecks Chanhee on the forehead, and strokes his cheek — makes his favourite soup, and encourages him to eat some bread with it, felicitates him for finishing it. He's gentle, cautious; carries Chanhee to bed when Chanhee announces he's tired, and cuddles up to him right after, pulling him to his chest and holding him loosely, giving him just the right amount of space and warmth. Treats Chanhee like a frail, frightened animal, with grazing touches and sweet words, whispered against his forehead as Chanhee slowly slips into slumber, eyelids heavy with sleep and unable to fight back. Acts like the angel he is, and lulls Chanhee to sleep, lulls him into a warm place whose keys only he owns.

It is, by far, not the best celebration they've had: Chanhee wakes up the next morning, feeling just as sore, just as tired — but Seokwoo is there, as tender and caring as the night before, and he does his very best to handle Chanhee carefully, to make the sickness easier on him. He's no god, cannot lessen pain, even less take it away from him — but Chanhee finds his presence helpful, and necessary — confesses this thought as they have lunch, worded in an innocent  _ what would I do without you? _

'Everything,' Seokwoo says, smiling, discreetly putting himself down as always.

Chanhee disagrees — retorts, much later, as they're cuddling on the couch, and Seokwoo is finishing the tea Chanhee did not fully drink, that actually, he'd probably be lost without him.

'Nothing, that's what I'd do without you,' he says, clearly, to make sure Seokwoo hears, believes him, knows that he means it.

Seokwoo stops sipping on his tea — dips, blushing, and grabs Chanhee's hand, intertwines their fingers. Doesn't give a verbal reply, but the kisses he plants everywhere on Chanhee's hand, on Chanhee's face; the way he burrows his face in the crook of Chanhee's neck; are more than enough. Chanhee smiles, and hugs Seokwoo, content, pleased. Sick, still — but with Seokwoo by his side, it doesn't quite matter.

⁂

'Look at this one.'

Chanhee approaches Seokwoo warily, wet towel loosely wrapped around his neck, his shorts rustling at each of his steps. Seokwoo holds his phone out proudly, as if he were showing him a picture of the greatest painting of the century, adored and praised by all — rather than the picture of Chanhee he took earlier, while he was standing in front of  _ The Great Sea,  _ caught as he was turning around. It doesn't look bad, not at all: in fact, Chanhee Does look nice, recognition starting to appear in his eyes, the line of his body embellished by his coat, and the pose he's accidentally taking — but Chanhee is shy, especially when Seokwoo's eyes shine brightly as he looks as the picture, when Seokwoo murmurs he might just set it as his home screen.

'Stop,' he says, 'get off your cloud and go take a shower.'

But Seokwoo doesn't listen, continues fawning over the pictures of Chanhee he took.

'You're so pretty,' he says, casually, making Chanhee's entire face burn up, causing him to feign to look for something to avoid crossing his gaze. 'Look at this face. Adorable. Cutest smile on earth. I'm endlessly grateful to your parents.'

Chanhee cringes — snorts, in-between flushing harder and lightly kicking Seokwoo in the shin, pulling him up and dragging him to the bathroom.

'Go,' he says, unable to take Seokwoo's words any longer, feeling like he might just implode and explode if Seokwoo keeps talking.

But Seokwoo is inexhaustible, a persevering talker: he sends messages to the conversation he and Chanhee have with the latter's parents, the pictures he took at the art gallery and his opinion on each and every one of them — gushes over them and embarrasses Chanhee, has him hiding his face and covering his eyes from the never-ending fawning taking place in the conversation.

_ I'm the luckiest guy on earth,  _ he texts, to which Chanhee replies to just  _ go shower, he's been in there for fifteen minutes. _

'I'm the luckiest guy on earth!' Seokwoo thus then claims from the bathroom, just to annoy him. 'The luckiest guy in the galaxy!'

_ What a sweetheart,  _ is the only answer Chanhee's father deigns to grant Chanhee, and Chanhee buries his face in the couch, knows he's officially lost this battle.

Losing, however, as always with Seokwoo, is never too bad: it means Seokwoo is chanting he's the luckiest guy in the universe when he joins Chanhee in bed, and gets endeared by Chanhee flushing at his ridiculous, overly cheesy lyrics; means that he hugs him tightly, and whispers sweet nothings to his ear, laughs silently as Chanhee covers his face, as he tries to wriggle out of his embrace.

'I love you so so much,' he says, giggling like a kid who caught the pompom at the funfair, happier than he's ever been. 'So so so much. I'm luckier than an irish lutin.'

Chanhee lets out a laugh — rolls his eyes, but pets Seokwoo's hair, tangles his hand in it, combs the almost-dry strands of it. Listens as Seokwoo babbles, praising him and thanking life for allowing them to be together.

'I'm blessed,' he whispers in the crook of his neck, 'I'm richer than the highest paid person on earth. I'm a zillionaire. No - I'm a Chanheellionaire. Richest man on this planet. Gold means nothing when it stands up against you. Bim, bam, boom — one look at you and the gold disappears.'

He never stops — it never ends: he rants about gold and how worthless it is when compared to Chanhee, repeats over and over again that he's fortuitous, prosperous, that's he's the luckiest guy ever. He falls asleep after a while, after tiring himself out; holding Chanhee preciously, like a dragon hoarding its most precious treasure.

Chanhee scrolls again through the conversation they have with his parents, rereads Seokwoo's messages. They're filled with overly cheesy notes, almost gross as they drip, bathe in sticky honey.

_ Immensely grateful to know your son, even more thankful to be dating him,  _ is the caption that sits under the lone picture they have of them together, taken by a passer-by. They're posing, simply, standing next to each other, Seokwoo's hand on Chanhee's waist, while Chanhee's are in his pockets — Chanhee is smiling shyly, cheeks a little red, but Seokwoo's grin is wide, honest, his cheeks bunched up and his eyes forming crescents — he looks happy, blissful — in love, just a bit, as always.

Chanhee sighs, puts his phone away. Pays attention to the heart that beats against him, and closes his eyes, lulled, peaceful.

Seokwoo isn't the luckiest man on earth — he's second to Chanhee.

⁂

Summer is desperately trying to be warm, its sun burning everything when it can — but clouds, wind, rain, have been fighting back — Seokwoo and Chanhee, up until then taking a walk on the beach, have been forced to take shelter in the remains of an old casemate.

'I'm bummed,' Seokwoo says — he's sitting atop the little window built into the rocks, gazing at the angry sea and the few people powering through the gentle storm, absentmindedly playing with pebbles he found in the small building. 'It's really beautiful, when it's sunny.'

Chanhee follows Seokwoo's gaze, and shrugs — there is a certain beauty in the grey clouds, the ugly whistles of the wind, the way it twists every shape it meets. It's cliché, worthy of being the principal settings of a not-quite-good mystery novel — but Chanhee doesn't mind cliché, doesn't mind slightly bad — as long as it's interesting, he likes it.

'It's not too bad like this.'

'Really?'

Chanhee nods, motions at their shelter. Slowly spins on himself, taking everything in, from the walls, to the ceiling, the ground, the little cracks, the little details, the little flaws of the place.

'History is keeping us warm.'

He points at a little indent in the stone near Seokwoo's head, gestures to the graffiti painted on the wall by the window.

'There's one like this in the city,' Seokwoo murmurs, quietly admirative. 'Bigger, and not the same colours, but it's the same.'

'You think the same person did it?'

'Maybe.' Seokwoo shrugs, contemplates the graffiti before continuing, 'Maybe the artist has a sibling. A twin. A cousin. A partner in graffiti.'

Chanhee smiles, considers the idea. A little absurd, but reality has always been this way — strange, and ridiculous, without making much sense. It's plausible.

'Do you think our lives will be the same?'

Chanhee tilts his head — doesn't know how Seokwoo reached that train of thought. As always — Chanhee looks past it, and simply asks him to explain what he means, to be more precise.

'The buildings we live in,' Seokwoo clarifies. 'The police station. The center. The courthouse. My apartment. Yours. What do you think will happen when we die?'

_ Who knows,  _ is Chanhee's first thought — but Seokwoo is pensive, seems to want to discuss this, to listen and be heard. He thinks it over — doesn't have much answers, but he opens his mouth anyway — knows Seokwoo doesn't need much to reach a conclusion, simply a few directions here and there to clear the path of potential misdirects.

'I don't know. Someone will move in, probably. In our apartments, I mean. Same with the other buildings, actually. New people will arrive. We'll be forgotten. If that's what you mean.'

'Kinda.' Seokwoo brings his knees to his chest. 'But once humanity is done with these buildings? What's gonna happen to them?' A pause, as Seokwoo turns to the sea, to let his thoughts fully flow into the open without having to feel shame. 'I hope they become shelters, too.'

Romantic, somehow, Chanhee thinks — hopeful, mostly. Chanhee cannot picture anyone using the morgue as a shelter, or Sanghyuk's messy, crumbly office as a safe place. Could see someone using his apartment, but without proper heating, proper electricity — the place would go to hell quickly, would lose its charm and most of the reasons Chanhee still lives in it. But then again — shelters and homes are often not the same thing, and a home that starts out as a shelter never quite feels welcoming at first. Chanhee cannot compare what is incomparable.

'They probably will. If not for humans, at least animals. Cats. Rats. Diseases.'

Seokwoo turns back to him, rolls his eyes.

'You have a way with words.'

'It's true,' Chanhee argues, reluctantly, out of habit. 'How many diseases do you think are surrounding us right now? We might just die if we don't shower when we come home.'

'You're killing the mood.'

Chanhee knows Seokwoo doesn't truly mean it, that he's more relieved to be pulled out of his thoughts than really annoyed; but he steps forward anyway — rests his chin on Seokwoo's knee, and wraps his arms around his leg. Looks at him, and only at him, waits for their gazes to meet to finally speak:

'I can't see anyone wanting to use the lab as a shelter, babe. Can only see it being explored half-assedly so the explorer can post their questionable vid on the internet in a boring paranormal vlog playlist. They would probably think there are ghosts in the fridges. I say that without any shade. No,' he continues, and this time he's the one who looks to the sea, 'I don't think anyone would stay there. I think humans would get disgusted, rightfully so, or that, at the very least, they wouldn't be interested by such refuges. Animals, however…' he smiles. 'I can see a few cats getting to know the inside of your fridge. A white one. An orange one. A black one. A calm trio that doesn't let anyone else in, except a tiny brown kitten that's been abandoned by its owner. It grows big and strong thanks to the fish you never eat.'

Seokwoo smiles, slightly, in spite of himself. Leans his head against the filthy, filthy wall — Chanhee wonders if the movement is unconscious, or fully planned.

'And graffitis?'

'A big green and pink one, on the wall of your living-room. Just like the one here, just like the one in the city. Nobody will ever know the connection, but the partner in graffiti calls it fate. We never get to find out who it is.'

Seokwoo nods, sagely, as if any of this were true. Perhaps it will be, one day, Chanhee thinks, as he continues talking, imagining, replying to Seokwoo's questions — he will not be there to witness any of this, will never see the actual future that will unfold. Cannot even guarantee it will ever happen, but he finds that there is something soothing in inventing stories, unrelated to murders and mysteries, that have no starts and no ends. Nothing that leaves his mouth, in this moment, is real, nothing that crosses his mind, will ever happen. He's not excellent at it, but it's enough for Seokwoo — his questions slow down and lessen, become silence after a while — and finally they walk back home, back to Seokwoo's sister's house, to make the most out of the few days of holidays they have left.

'I'm sure the cats would find a way to your apartment,' Seokwoo whispers later at night, probably thinking Chanhee is already asleep, thumb tracing gentle circles on his hand. 'They would prefer it to my own. Would sleep in your bed, and on your bar. On your carpet Youngkyun can't stand, and the coffee table. On the balcony — they'd look at the scenery, and fall in love with it. I get them. I feel the exact same way.'

A silence, during which Chanhee feels himself truly fall, during which he could swear he sees dark and pastel graffitis, colourful cats filling every corner of his eyes — but he hears a voice, tiny, gentle — impossibly distinct, that whispers Chanhee is a shelter of his own, the one of the present.

The sun is up when he manages to open his eyes, and the heat of the summer is back, sticky, unneeded. Perhaps in those times, people would find the morgue useful to sleep in.

As for Chanhee — he turns up the AC, and falls back into Seokwoo's arms, sprawls into his arms like a kitten in dire need of warmth. Seokwoo wraps an arm around his waist — Chanhee purrs, content, and slips back into dreamland.

⁂

_ Missing you,  _ Chanhee texts in the middle of the afternoon — already much too late for Seokwoo to see, his stakeout shift having ended three hours ago, and his bed probably holding him captive now — but Chanhee wants him to know, feels like it might go away if he expresses it. It doesn't, not at all, but at least Chanhee can say he tried, can argue he attempted something.

It's not that he's helpless, it's not that he'd cry a river — but still, he feels a little empty without Seokwoo by his side, without him in his bed, in his apartment. It's something they've settled on, being apart during stakeouts, so Seokwoo can rest fully — but Chanhee misses him during those times, has been gradually missing him more and more as time goes by. He can manage just fine without Seokwoo, without seeing him during the day — but coming home to an empty apartment, an unoccupied couch, an unoccupied bed, has been pulling at his heart nowadays. He misses Seokwoo, is used to having him by his side — perhaps a little too much, would say a few uneducated people, but Chanhee doesn't really care — what experts, or pop psychology, say will not change the fact that he doesn't like being apart from Seokwoo, that he misses him a lot. 

The apartment is even colder than expected when Chanhee comes home — he makes himself dinner in total silence, showers earlier than usual, Seokwoo unable to distract him — goes to bed with a book he's already read, skims through the first few chapters.

_ Missing you too,  _ Seokwoo sends just as Chanhee is falling asleep — shaking him out of slumber, as Chanhee forces himself to make a call, just to soothe his soul.

'Are you doing well?' he asks, groggily, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Seokwoo laughs, softly — replies that yes, he is.

'But I do miss you,' he continues, quieter — like he's telling Chanhee a secret, something none else should know. 'A lot.'

Chanhee hums in agreement — has a lot on his mind, sitting at the top of his tongue, but remains silent, too tired to word it all, unable to make sense of everything crossing his mind, of what is pulling at his heartstrings.

'Come by this weekend,' Seokwoo says. 'Stay as long as you want.' A pause. 'I don't sleep as well without you.'

Chanhee smiles — confesses that he feels the same.

'I'll be here,' he assures him. 'Without a fault. For as long as you want.'

_ Forever,  _ Seokwoo jokes. Chanhee lets out a laugh — he would.

⁂

Seokwoo's little cousins are tiny monsters who average around eight years old — one is slightly younger, and two others older, but the result is the same: they're all walking headaches with too much sugar running in their blood, assuredly a loss of ten years of one's life every time they open their mouths — Chanhee is starting to understand why Seokwoo always begs him to celebrate everything at his place rather than back at Seokwoo's parents'.

'They're,' Chanhee starts, as he comes back to the table, after fighting off one of the demons as he was stepping out of the bathroom, 'very energetic.'

Seokwoo snorts.

'I think  _ absolutely infernal _ is the term you're looking for.' He catches one of his cousins' hand, reprimands her for running too fast — watches as she runs away as soon as he lets her go. 'God, I age six years when I'm with them.'

'Six years, only? I'm surprised.'

'My aging cream does wonders fighting back against the stress they give me.'

Chanhee ignores the comeback — tries to focus on the meal Seokwoo's father just laid on the table, tuning out the never-ending screams and giggles.

'I'm definitely winning our bet,' he later tells Sanghyuk as he and Seokwoo stand on the balcony after eating, taking a break as they wait for dessert to be served. 'I'm probably also losing eleven years of my life.'

'They're that bad?' Sanghyuk laughs — screams can be heard on his end of the phone, his own cousins also from a brand new circle of hell.

'You should see them. Though, that's the last thing I'd wish you.'

Seokwoo laughs, mouths that Chanhee is mean — understands more than anyone, whispers that someday it'll be easier to have them over.

'But how is it, apart from the little nuisances? You having a good time?' 

Seokwoo cannot hear what Sanghyuk is saying — he has been listening with half an ear, staring down at the garden that was once his biggest playground, that used to be part of his kingdom — probably reminiscing about his childhood, and the years that followed; life back then. He's pretty, gazing at memories Chanhee is not a part of, at things only he can see — Chanhee is tired, and will probably have a headache as soon as they drive back home, but — he doesn't mind — likes this little trip into his life.

'Yeah,' he replies. 'Yeah. I'll be sleeping as soon as we get home, but I'm liking it.'

He's met Seokwoo's parents, Seokwoo's sister already, he explains, of course — but still, he's enjoying the day, doesn't really regret coming.

'Different than the typical Christmas,' he says, 'but I'm not really upset.'

Seokwoo laughs — argues that if they keep this up every year, he soon will change his mind.

'Wanna bet?' Chanhee jokes — Seokwoo immediately shakes his head, waves his forefinger — Sanghyuk, at the other end of the phone, laughs like there's no tomorrow.

Half of the blood-related terrors have quieted down when Seokwoo and Chanhee come back to the living room, but the sugar in the desserts doesn't take long to excite them once again, and Seokwoo decides to take a break, to show Chanhee around.

'You've seen my room, and the entire house since the first time you came,' he says, 'but I've never shown you around the neighbourhood.'

They grab their coats, their scarves; each other's hand as they step outside — Seokwoo's sister begs them to at least take a few of the kids with them, but none of them is interested by the cold weather and the awfully dull, princesseless and robotless streets.

'Thank god,' Seokwoo sighs as he guides Chanhee down the street, shoving their linked hands in his pocket, 'the parenthood free trial does not tempt me, even as a christmas present.'

Chanhee chuckles, squeezes his hand.

'You don't appreciate being sneezed on?'

Seokwoo moans at the much too recent memory of his cousin sneezing on his sister, on the cake that was in her plate.

'Please, don't. Let's talk about something else.' Seokwoo smiles. 'This neighbourhood, for example. Do you see that small orange building at the end of the road?'

Chanhee squints —  _ yes,  _ he replies.

'It's the bakery,' Seokwoo explains — then proceeds to describe every type of bread, every type of pastry the workers there make — proceeds to recount memories, moments of his life. It's all so vivid to Seokwoo: he lets go of Chanhee's hand to turn his memories into shapes, to get them across — Chanhee is awful at picturing, at imagining, but he listens nevertheless, sees everything taking place in his own life, in the bakery  _ he  _ used to go to as a teenager, wearing clothes he wore back then, Seokwoo's friends acquaintances he had during these years rather than the actual strangers they are to him.

'I really wish it was open today,' Seokwoo says sadly as he and Chanhee stand in front of the windows, the inside of the shop hidden by gigantic white blinds. 'They make the best cougnous on earth.'

Cougnouless they turn back — towards the library then Seokwoo's primary school, passing by this house and that apartment, where friends, enemies, acquaintances, familiar passerbys used to live — still live, perhaps — Seokwoo does not know.

'My first boyfriend lived here,' Seokwoo confesses as they pass by a coral pink house, shyly hiding his face in his scarf.

Chanhee smiles, endeared — curious about Seokwoo's firsts, about the way this first romantic adventure went.

'Really? What was his name?'

'Hansol,' Seokwoo sagely replies. 'He- well,  _ we,  _ were fourteen. I started dating him when I was thirteen, then broke up with him the year after. We actually celebrated my birthday together.'

'Aw, cute.'

Seokwoo turns his face away, cheeks and ears flushed red — adorable, Chanhee thinks, resisting the urge to pull Seokwoo close, to stomp on the past to kiss him endlessly — it can wait, it can wait; until Chanhee knows the entire history.

'Yeah, it was pretty cute,' Seokwoo admits.

He slides his hand back into Chanhee's, buries the couple in the pocket of Chanhee's coat — glueing himself to his side, as if the small breeze blowing could take Chanhee away.

'We broke up four months after. Near Christmas, actually. His grandmother passed away in November.'

'Oh.'

'Yeah. It was a messy ending.'

Out of habit, Chanhee squeezes Seokwoo's hand, gently rubs its back with his thumb.

'Why?'

'Many things.' Seokwoo shrugs. 'The grandmother's death, mostly. He couldn't quite get over it. Which I'm not saying is a bad thing, but- yeah, he was so broken, I think he took it out on me. Verbally, once,' he quickly adds when he notices the frown taking shape on Chanhee's face, 'just before breaking up. He,' (a sigh) 'he was just not doing well. I tried my best to help him; gave him space, took him on a few dates that were supposed to be comforting, helped him with school when he missed some classes. Told him we'd go through this together, but, um,' he laughs, suddenly, bitterly. 'That was one movie sentence I really should have kept for myself.'

'At least you meant it.'

'True,' Seokwoo laughs, a little brighter, a little happier, 'but it was really embarrassing to be like  _ don't worry, it's gonna be fine, we'll go through this together _ and be hit with a  _ actually, I'm not gonna be doing well, ever, and here's a list of all your flaws, by the way.' _

Chanhee gasps, offended.

'No way.'

'Yes way.' Seokwoo tucks his head on Chanhee's shoulder, the scarf Chanhee is wearing much too big to allow him access to the crook of his neck. 'I told you he wasn't doing well.'

'That's a dick move.'

Seokwoo shrugs.

'I understand him, in a way. Looking back on it, I really wasn't the best boyfriend. I was loud, annoying, embarrassing…'

_ Typical teenager traits,  _ Chanhee burns to say, to argue — but this is about Seokwoo's experiences, and how he took them, how he perceives them. There is no place for a gentle argument on perspectives, no place for Chanhee to intervene. Later, when they're in the car, in bed together, or even afterwards, when they have a moment for themselves, he can speak his mind — once, and, if Seokwoo allows, twice, thrice, a little more — if not, never again, or at the very least not for a few years. This isn't his hill, not to die on, not even to lay foot on — it's Seokwoo's, and it will not crumble without Chanhee's opinion, does not need it to survive.

'It's those times, you know,' Seokwoo digresses. 'We were young, and ultimately not made for this. Not that I think it'd change if it happened now. I don't know.'

'Want me to assassinate one of my family members so we can test it together?'

Seokwoo snorts; surprised, hit by the unexpected comment.

'Sure, do that. It will be a phenomenal sociology experiment. Do you want to add the factor of me having to pursue you to the mix, or is it fine like that?'

'As if,' Chanhee laughs, 'I'm your boyfriend. You can't investigate me.'

'Damn it. You'd probably get away with it.'

'Probably.' Chanhee smiles, sweetly. 'I've been told I have great medical knowledge.'

Seokwoo laughs, out loud — shakes his head, briefly, then suddenly turns to Chanhee, eyes glinting and anticipation written all over his face.

'I've got a question for you, then,' he says. 'Kid in middle school once said it to the nurse she had a crush on.'

'Go ahead.'

Seokwoo quiets down, straightens himself up — blushes, afraid to mess up his act, and leans closer — if whatever he's going to try does not work, he can always count on the effect he has on Chanhee to eclipse it.

'If you have great medical knowledge, then can you tell me where my heart is?'

Chanhee smiles — senses the cheesy line coming, but cannot quite figure out what it is exactly.

'In your chest, protected by your ribcage? Surprise me.'

Seokwoo squeezes Chanhee's hand — slips his other hand into Chanhee's, caresses it softly. 

'There,' he murmurs, perfect portrait of a troubadour, attempting to woo Chanhee and very, very clearly succeeding at it — Chanhee looks away as Seokwoo whispers his heart is in his hand, has to take a moment to be able to answer this is medically incorrect.

Seokwoo laughs: lets go of Chanhee's hand and tilts up Chanhee's face, strokes his chin.

'Maybe,' he says, 'but you're blushing.'

'Am I?'

_ Yes,  _ Seokwoo sagely replies — nods once then smiles, pecks Chanhee on the lips. Drowns him into a hug afterwards, pleased by the effect his pickup line had on Chanhee.

'I love you,' he giggles, the neighbourhood probably getting to him, and sending the both of them to the past, turning them into teenagers, versions of the past that can finally meet — Chanhee rolls his eyes, and hugs him tighter; smiles as he burrows his face in Seokwoo's scarf.

'My heart is all yours,' Seokwoo whispers as he pulls back — holds out his hand for Chanhee to look at, to hold — Chanhee gently comes to support it with his hand, and kisses Seokwoo's palm, kisses his fingers.

'I'll protect it,' he promises — something that neither belongs to the past, or the present, that doesn't belong to a time, or even a location — a timeless promise that only belongs to them. 

Seokwoo smiles, and closes his hand — in-between his fingers, Chanhee can make out the contours of his own heart — bright red beating, swelling at each of its pumps — in safe hands: Chanhee cannot find it in him to worry. Does not try to look for it — instead he listens as Seokwoo starts to talk again, to reminisce about the past, and follows him as he guides him somewhere else.

His heart — he believes it is more than safe there.


	4. Chapter 4

Seokwoo is loud as he comes in, his coat falling on the floor as he tries to hang it while looking at Chanhee; realising something is wrong and overlooking his hands coordination to focus on Chanhee.

'Tough day at work?' he says, striding into the room — coming to a halt before Chanhee, scarf still wrapped around his neck, his hair a mess — his shoes lying on the carpet before the front door, his coat on the bar — things that don't matter, not as much as what he is seeing, witnessing.

Chanhee nods — looks up, but is unable to even lock eyes with Seokwoo — sighs, and hides his face in his hands, hunches back just the way he was before Seokwoo came in.

'Yeah.'

Warmth seeps through Chanhee's jumper as Seokwoo lays a hand on his back — through his jeans, as Seokwoo sits down and his knee rests against Chanhee's thigh — through everything, everything, everything, as Seokwoo gently pulls him to his chest, and down, on the couch, into his arms — Chanhee lets himself drown, forgets all about the surface and only focuses on the comfort he is receiving, dives into the warmth and lets it suffocate him.

'It's gonna be alright,' Seokwoo whispers.

Chanhee cries.

It is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no this isn't a troll this is just me being unable to kill a darling. formatting may change afterwards if i add this part to chap3 or chap5 but for now. the darling gets an entire chapter to its name.


	5. Chapter 5

Milestones are a thing of their own: Chanhee only sees them when they're before him, or far behind him and Seokwoo. He never notices when they're right in front of him, when he's saying and doing them, when they're unfolding right before his very eyes — 

Until Seokwoo says it. As they sit on the couch, Seokwoo vertically, and Chanhee horizontally, feet pillowed in Seokwoo's lap, Seokwoo's right hand absentmindedly caressing his leg — an apple in his other hand, slowly being eaten, as Seokwoo focuses on the events happening on the TV screen. It's summer, humid heat assailing everything it can reach, the aircon trying to fight the weather off as best as it can — failing, always, every day, but the battles are not lost in vain, give Seokwoo and Chanhee enough cold air for them to be able to power through another day.

It's summer: Seokwoo takes a bite out of his apple, chews it — makes a humming noise as Sara the coffee maker goes to bed, gives a light tap to Chanhee's leg — and, in the same breath, sets down to the milestone of moving in together, into a brand new apartment.

Chanhee isn't sure he heard him correctly — asks him to repeat himself, to be certain he's not dreaming, that he's hearing this right. Seokwoo turns to him, his hand having come to a stop at the junction between his ankle and his foot, repeats the five words, slower, slowing time down.

'Should we move in together?'

Chanhee knows how important it is, sees how huge of a milestone it is — but does not feel it at all, as he locks eyes with Seokwoo, as he thinks it over, and replies that yes, it would make sense. He only feels it is natural, that this is the most logical decision — that this is the next step they should take. After all, his bed has seemed cold without Seokwoo in it nowadays, the apartment is empty without him — they spend more time together than apart, and when afar, Chanhee misses him. And — he thinks he could manage putting up with his annoying antics if it means getting to wake up by his side every day, if it means spending the rest of his time with him. It makes sense — a lot of sense, actually —  _ yes,  _ Chanhee repeats,  _ yes. _

He feels everything later on: as Seokwoo shows him an apartment that caught his eye, as he himself starts to look for new homes on his side — as they start to visit places, and spend most of their time exchanging opinions on them, discussing what they liked and didn't like about this room, that kitchen, the garage — as the sentence becomes a real decision, as what started out as a suggestion becomes reality — as their acts are set in stone, and become pillars for the future.

As what that means catches up with Chanhee, and he's left swimming in a pool of uncertainties.

'What if I'm —  _ we're — _ doing a gigantic mistake,' Chanhee mutters a few days, weeks later, as he puts his latest victim back into her fridge — Juho glances at him as he turns off the lab's camera, takes off his mask.

'Does it feel like one?'

Chanhee sighs.

'When do mistakes ever feel like terrible things to do on the moment?'

_ They always seem so right,  _ he adds, as Juho remains silent — and gets no reply for a while, until they're sat in front of their computers, eating the cookies they always eat when they've done a good job, when they've worked well and think they deserve congratulations.

'But does it feel wrong?'

Asking for Chanhee to repeat himself — or perhaps trying to make him consider another perspective, to have him take a different approach. Perhaps — Chanhee changes path, and decides to think the question over, to go further than logic and what his mind repeats to him.

'Nothing ever feels wrong with him.' He thinks back on their first kiss, their first official date — that time, after his birthday, when Seokwoo had confessed shyly, cheeks red, and struggling to meet his gaze; unable to keep his feelings for himself anymore, freeing himself of the cage that had been built around him. Suddenly colouring Chanhee's entire world — blooming both before his eyes and in his heart as Chanhee accepted his feelings. 'He makes everything feel right.'

Juho doesn't say anything — nods, inviting Chanhee to go on, to figure out everything on his own — like always, preferring to be a spectator and watch what unravels, to nudge rather than fully push. It's enough, for Chanhee: his tongue loosens, and connects the dots with words — the wheels of his mind turn in a new direction, and are working much more smoothly than before as he reaches a conclusion: moving in with Seokwoo is worth it, no matter what happens.

Juho smiles when Chanhee says it out loud, tells him he's happy for him.

'They say everything changes when you move in together,' he says. 'But personally, I think everything just simplifies. Everything that made sense becomes a habit, and things you are unsure about can be discussed, the bond you have becomes something new entirely.' Juho smiles, as he looks down at his ring, thick halo of silver resting around his skin. 'Love is difficult — but with the right person, it feels so simple.'

Chanhee remembers his words — thinks them over later, as he watches Seokwoo make dinner, as he lies in bed with Seokwoo asleep by his side — in the morning, as Chanhee sits in the kitchen, as Seokwoo emerges out of his bedroom and knocks his head against the door of the bathroom, pouts when his sleepy gaze meets Chanhee's. Loving him is incredibly easy, and oftentimes difficult — Chanhee never knows if he's doing right or wrong, if his best is enough for Seokwoo. Wonders if Seokwoo is content, happy, fulfilled with what they have now — it is incredibly easy to love him, to devote his entire life to living with him, but in its execution, in trying to make sure everything is well, and good, Chanhee finds sweat, hard work. And he would overwork himself a million times for Seokwoo, would destroy old roads and pave new ones for him, would create and gift him an entire galaxy — would do everything he can, even what he cannot do, for him, without ever objecting. Would do it effortlessly, because it is a no-brainer: Seokwoo deserves the very best, the entire world and much much more. Fears that all of that might not be enough one day, but —

'Good morning,' Seokwoo says, now fully awake, ready to start the day — pecking Chanhee on the cheek, as always, and ruffling his hair as he takes a seat at the table. Kissing him again as he leaves for work, his lips lingering on Chanhee's just a moment — blooming, still, and never ceasing to grow; asking for more at any occasion. Trying just as hard as Chanhee, and making all of Chanhee's efforts worth it, successful — being his other half, and making it all simple, so simple. Perhaps — perhaps — Juho is actually right.

⁂

Chanhee looks out the window, to the river before his eyes; calm, and welcoming each droplet of the rain that falls from the clouds above, carrying on with life as it evolves.

'So you'll be selling your apartment?'

'Moving out,' Chanhee corrects. 'It was never mine in the first place.'

'Right,' Chanhee's mother says. 'Right. So — you're truly moving out? This is it? Where are you two gonna live? Not too far from work, right? Or — Kang Chanhee, you'd have told me if you'd taken a job somewhere else, wouldn't have you?'

Chanhee sighs, rolls his eyes — interrupts Jinae as she goes on a rant. Sometimes, she makes it almost as hard as Seokwoo to talk to her.

'We're moving across the river, ma. No further than that.'

There's an  _ oh  _ at the end of the phone — some rustling, then Jinae is speaking again:

'Just across the river? So, opposite your apartment?'

'Yes.'

'No further?'

'No further.'

Another  _ oh —  _ then silence, as if Jinae was thinking things over, with her adult, her mother's brain, thinking everything through, preparing to pass judgement on the events — Chanhee opens his mouth, to delay the moment she will decide to give him the bit of truth that always seems to rest in the palm of her hand.

'Seokwoo is the one who found the apartment,' he says, seemingly unnecessarily — but it matters to him, a lot, and he wants his mother to know it, wants her to have the entirety of the facts before she dares giving him a piece of her mind. 'It's beautiful. Bigger than mine, his, obviously — there's an additional room, and everything is just… wider. Higher. Even the windows. You should see the scenery. So beautiful. There are no words to describe it.'

Jinae comes out of her silence:

'Better than your soon-to-be former apartment?'

_ Yes,  _ is the first answer that crosses Chanhee's mind, that almost makes it out of his mouth and into the open — but the outside, in its entirety, catches his eye — has him staring, at everything in one glance, at nothing in particular — at what has been, become, a quite heavy part of his life, something that has defined him, and witnessed him evolve. The city, living beneath his feet, breathing like an entity of its own, each of its people leading their very own life, going their very own way — the river, witnessing it all, being part of the spectacle, entrancing Chanhee every morning, every day, every night, remaining the same as always, and yet always changing — being the companion it had been the first time Chanhee had looked out this window, the first thing that had made him feel at home. 

It is nostalgia, that holds him back from saying the view is better at the new apartment — after all, the windows there are bigger, and the angle of the apartment offers picturesque moments of the day, the sun shining, rising, setting in the prettiest way possible. But the view from this apartment has never been bad, remains beautiful even now. It is not lacking — simply simpler, and a little more common. But Chanhee is very fond of it — will probably miss it, once he and Seokwoo will be done moving out, when he'll look out the window and the scenery outside will not be as spectacular as it can be. He'll miss it — like Seokwoo will probably miss the view he had on the playground near his apartment building, like he'll probably miss how high it was, and how cramped the whole place was. Like one misses a part of their life as they think back on it, as time reminds them that it passes no matter what.

He remembers: a decently warm summer evening, spent with everyone, which back then did not include Inseong, did not include Taeyang, did not include Jaeyoon — after Sanghyuk and Youngkyun had left, as Youngbin and Juho stood on the balcony. As fireworks exploded in the sky, illuminated the world — Seokwoo stood there, in the doorframe, gazing at the fireworks then at him, smiling softly, grazing a corner of his heart, and leaving it budding, contaminating the rest of him. Suddenly making sense of everything Chanhee had witnessed, gone through — unknowingly pulling him closer, and making a satellite out of him.

Chanhee wonders, if they will have a scene like this one, like the ones that followed, on Their balcony — if they will get to love it even more, and perhaps miss it terribly if they ever move out. He hopes so — would be stupidly happy if a billion memories were made there, if they made sense if he and Seokwoo ever moved out.

'Chanhee?'

Chanhee blinks, suddenly pulled back to reality — replies with an absentminded  _ yes,  _ and opens the door to the balcony. Steps outside, just a bit, to lean against the door frame, where Seokwoo once stood, turning his entire world upside down, and yet seeming like the most stable axis. Being a firework of its own, tranquil, beautiful — Chanhee knows it is not his case at all, in the moment, but his heart burns, just a little — is illuminated by a thousand colours, and makes the loudest sound as it beats.

'It's different,' he declares. 'Very different.'

_ It's irreplaceable,  _ he says, and does not find any more words to fully express himself, and leaves it all hanging in the air, hoping his mother will understand. Jinae chuckles, and mumbles an alright — understands it all, from a to z.

'I'm happy for you,' she says, and Chanhee can hear a smile stretching her lips widely. 'Live well, my son. Live well.'

A droplet falls into the palm of Chanhee's hand, slides down his skin as Chanhee holds his hand vertically — it falls onto the floor, joining all the other children of this rain, small yet to be remembered, something that lived. Chanhee smiles.

'I will, ma. I will.'

⁂

Seokwoo looms above Chanhee, hands resting on his hips, looking like Jinae back when Chanhee was twelve and had thoroughly disappointed her during his first (and last) mathrathon, frown pulling his eyebrows together, a piece of his mind sitting atop his lips.

'That is not how moving in works,' he says, disapprovingly — doing nothing to pull Chanhee up from his improvised bed on the floor, contemplating him from above.

'Please,' Chanhee breathes out, a little more dramatically than necessary. 'I'm tired. Do you know how heavy these are?'

He points at the boxes, sitting open in the middle of the room — at the brand new couch they bought a few days ago, still turned towards the wall, its definite place not yet chosen — the shelf that was in his apartment, that he and Seokwoo have to rebuild from scratch — sighs as he rests his head back on the floor, already worn out from the entire move in.

'You are the worst.'

'I am weak,' Chanhee corrects. 'I am not an officer of the law. I am a mere doctor, who doesn't work out or keeps himself in good shape.'

'That's gonna have to change.' Seokwoo grabs Chanhee's hand, pulls him up easily — like the good cop he is, strong and in top shape, a gigantic pillar for the entire world to lean on. 'Because it is important to be healthy.'

Chanhee wraps his arms around his waist, rests his entire self against him.

'You care about my health? Sweet. I love you.'

Seokwoo strokes his back, tenderly, out of habit.

'Of course.' A pause, that announces the other side of the coin. 'But I mainly need you to be in shape to help me make a home out of this place. Love you too.'

Chanhee grumbles — pulls back and tries to escape Seokwoo's arms — is frail, fragile, a feeble M.E, and does not manage to step back, is held captive against Seokwoo's chest.

'You're so cruel,' he mutters, poor prisoner unable to escape his fate. 'You're not thinking about my delicate body. No consideration for my weak spirit.'

'Baby.' Seokwoo laughs, pulls back so he can cup Chanhee's face, so he can peck him on the forehead. 'We'll distribute the tasks evenly, and according to our strengths. Alright? Let's plan it all once we're done setting up the bed.'

Chanhee pouts, for show rather than because he means it — to get a little more love, one more kiss or another gentle caress wandering down his back. It works, like it always does: Seokwoo gets all sweet and gentle, muttering it'll be faster than expected, and that the end result will be worth it — kisses Chanhee to cheer him up, his honey fingers sticking to his face as his love drips into Chanhee's mouth, travels throughout his body, all the way to his heart — settles there, for as long as it can, as long as it wants. It fuels Chanhee, a little, along with the way Seokwoo holds him, the kisses he gives him, the private promises he makes — the perspective of living together, that hits Chanhee in-between two aspects of Seokwoo's mind, in-between a hand slipping under his tee-shirt and the suggestion to watch a movie later, once they're done with their bedroom.

'It's just a little work,' Seokwoo murmurs, still trying to reassure Chanhee — his daring hand climbs up Chanhee's back, settles in its favourite spot, spread wide open, fingers eliciting a thousand shivers at the slightest movement — Chanhee lets him do whatever he wants, closes his eyes and enjoys learning about Seokwoo's train of thought as he does this, whispers that. It does not go further than a few more kisses, a few suggestive words — Seokwoo is willing to get distracted, but Chanhee, somehow, finds strength in his touches, and his willingness to be disturbed — starts to see more than the moment, the evening Seokwoo is promising him — sees the evening after, and after; all of them; the entirety of their time spent there, in their room, the apartment, and pulls back, eventually convinced. Lying down with Seokwoo can wait a little more, until they have a proper bed to welcome them — as for now, they have a home to build, and turn into a reality.

'Deal.' Chanhee capitulates. 'But I'll need one more kiss to do it all.'

Seokwoo laughs.

'Anything you want, my love.'

And, actually — there is no real need for furniture, Chanhee thinks later, as he and Seokwoo lie, move around in their now very-real bed — Seokwoo's kisses are more than enough as a home, make everything feel like it belongs to Chanhee, to them. But that is something Chanhee keeps for himself — Seokwoo's mind is in another place, and it wouldn't do to distract him with such ideas, especially when their logic is ephemeral, when it would be dismantled in no time. No — Chanhee files the absurd thought in a corner of his mind, where he needs nothing but Seokwoo's love to survive, where life is a bright coloured dream, tempting but ultimately unrealistic — he locks it away, then forgets about it as Seokwoo's lips graze his thigh, as his hair tickles the other one — as Seokwoo pleasures him, and nothing else but their bodies matter. As the entire universe explodes right before his eyes, right in his chest, right under Seokwoo's fingers — as it becomes everything then wraps its thousand pieces around him, a sudden blanket of comfort, of calm — as it calls its kindest angel, and leaves him in his care, in his arms.

'Is really stupid…' Chanhee grumbles inaudibly, as he nestles against Seokwoo, nuzzles the crook of his neck — the remnants of his thoughts from earlier, that do not go further than these three words, that remain unexplained as he starts to doze off.

Seokwoo chuckles — probably (correctly) assumes he's going off on an introspective tangent, as usual, and, just like always, kisses the crown of his head, whispers an  _ alright. _

'Yes,' he says, amused, hugging Chanhee closer. 'You're right.'

And Chanhee doesn't think he is, at all — thinking you only need love to live is a privileged point of view to have in such a society — but Seokwoo is warm, loving — truly a home in itself, in himself. Chanhee leaves the thought hanging — reaches no conclusion, and falls asleep in Seokwoo's arms. 

⁂

'You forgot to fold the laundry. Again.'

Seokwoo looks up from the magazine he's reading — looks Chanhee up and down, and replies nonchalantly:

'And you're wearing the jumper I was planning to wear tomorrow. Again.'

Chanhee has the decency to blush, to gaze down at his feet — has the audacity to say this is not the point, this is about Seokwoo's bad habits — he's angry, just a little, and wants it to be known.

Seokwoo leans back in his chair, brushing his hair back. Frowns for a few brief seconds — indicating he's thinking things through, trying to piece things together and find the missing bits here and there. It seems he figures it all out: he opens his mouth, and speaks.

'How about we make a list of everything, and discuss it all this weekend? We'll spend the whole weekend doing that. Around pizzas,' he adds, gentle smile making its way on his lips. 'Sanghyuk mentioned a place to me.'

Chanhee considers the offer — very logical, very akin to what he enjoys. Sometimes, Seokwoo surprises him: he is not only kind, but also peaceful, and always does his very best to get out of a situation unscathed, to solve it before it explodes — he excels at sensing the smallest turmoil in otherwise calm waters, and managing to soothe them down, at crowning peace in the most brutal environments. A peace officer, first and foremost — it is impossible to resist him, especially when his decisions are sounder than anything Chanhee could ever imagine.

Chanhee pokes at the wrinkles between Seokwoo's eyebrows, and smoothes them down, makes the frown disappear with a caress.

'Alright,' he says. 'Deal.'

Seokwoo kisses his hand as it deserts his face — smiles widely, eyes shining as they look at him — Chanhee cannot resist smiling back, cannot resist it when Seokwoo tangles his hand in his and pulls him to his side, forcing him to bypass the table between them.

'You're messy,' he murmurs, noticing a small spot of spilled food on Seokwoo's tee-shirt, feeling like this sort of happening never ends.

'I'm sorry,' Seokwoo replies — means it, kissing Chanhee's hand as an apology, sorrow glinting in his eyes.

Chanhee sighs — combs Seokwoo's hair back with his free hand, and whispers it is fine, kisses Seokwoo on the forehead to convince him he means it.

'We're a pair. You have flaws and so do I.'

Seokwoo chuckles.

'Truly we are made for each other.'

'Truly.'

'Love you, kettle.'

Chanhee smiles — gives Seokwoo's forehead another kiss, tries to convey everything he cannot word with a single peck.

'Love you too, pot.'

⁂

Seokwoo sleeps, uncut locks of hair marrying well with the golden yellow of his pillowcase — his back rises, and falls, at each breath he takes, even and barely audible, calm and soothing. The fading sun of the afternoon, slowly dipping and hiding behind the buildings in the horizon, bathes him in its warmest colours, gives his features an ethereal look — his lashes, long, casting shadows on his slightly hollowed cheeks (Chanhee promises to tell him to eat more); his straight, thin nose; his plush, pink lips — the little mole on his chin; the wrinkles on his forehead as his eyebrows are pulled together; the scar on his hand, as he pulls the blanket closer to him in his sleep, as he rests his hand on his pillow.

He murmurs something; inaudible, incomprehensible to Chanhee — sniffles, and lets out a contented sound, before settling into silence again. Falls back into quiet oblivion, still and serene, far from the outside world's grip, from its iron hands — into an inner one, that only belongs to him, that is his and only his.

He dreams — for many hours, until the sun has set; and as night rises, so does he. Black locks matching the entirety of his black outfit, typical of him when he's on stakeouts — thin nose scrunching up as Chanhee tells him not to forget to eat, gently reprimands him for skipping his meals — pink lips whispering an I  _ love you _ before he's out the door, and into the darkness, back to work, back to the real world, one he has no control over.

Chanhee — Chanhee curls up on his side of the bed, because he always misses Seokwoo when he's on stakeouts, because worry always rules the back of his mind during those times — he burrows his face in his pillow, and lets the scent of Seokwoo's shampoo soothe him, pulls the blanket close to him, perfect imitation of Seokwoo earlier — just like him, he falls asleep.

And he too — he dreams.

⁂

They spend the new year with their group of friends, at their apartment — an occasion to show them around, for the few ones who haven't had the opportunity to visit, for the others who wish to rediscover their brand new, shiny home.

'Your view is absolutely gorgeous,' Youngbin says, huddled up in his coat so he can stand on the balcony without freezing to death, grinning like a child.

Seokwoo smiles back, answers that it was a must.

'We had to,' he says. 'Firstly because otherwise, Chanhee would probably sink into misery without the view from his former apartment, and eventually run back to it, and secondly-'

'Don't say it.'

Seokwoo ignores Chanhee's interruption, instead leans close to him, laying a hand on the small of his back.

'I need something to stare at when he's not there.'

The line earns him mixed reactions — snorts from most of their friends, but Youngkyun and Juho make disgusted faces, while Sanghyuk lets out a loud  _ yuck. _

'Absolutely awful,' he whispers, but Seokwoo does not care: he pecks Chanhee on the cheek, to everyone's greatest displeasure, earns himself a light jab in the ribs from Chanhee.

'Stop,' Chanhee says, cheeks burning hot, staring at Seokwoo and only Seokwoo, knowing his friends are mocking him at this very moment. 'Or you'll be the next John Do in my fridge.'

Seokwoo doesn't care, never does: he winks at Chanhee and goes back to pouring drinks — spends the few private moments they have during the evening kissing him, making Chanhee wonder whether he moved in with Kim Seokwoo or Casanova.

'Nonsense,' Seokwoo says, holding his hand as they stand in front of the sink, apparently forgetting dishes cannot wipe themselves dry. 'I just love you.'

'You love me a lot, tonight.'

Seokwoo grins, like a child finally getting what he wants, like he's just been told he's going to the theme park for the entire week. Perhaps end of year festivities are getting to him — perhaps moving in together has broken him. Chanhee isn't too sure.

'I'm just happy to be celebrating with you. Knowing I don't have to go home afterwards.'

'You stayed for a few days, last year.'

'Is it even remotely the same?'

Chanhee smiles — knows splitting hairs isn't worth it, knows nitpicking isn't needed — knows what Seokwoo means, and is not about to argue on it.

'You're right.'

He's the one pulling Seokwoo closer this time, the one nudging his collar, silently asking him to bend down — the one initiating the kiss; cupping Seokwoo's face as if he were holding a masterpiece, kissing him softly, gently, delicately pouring love onto Seokwoo's lips. 

Sanghyuk breaks the moment — yells that everyone can see them, even with the two pillars separating the kitchen from the living-room — asks them if their goal for the next year is to get the award of  _ most disgusting couple _ .

'You're just jealous,' Seokwoo riposts, holding Chanhee by the waist, half standing before him like he's a knight and Chanhee the distressed prince he has been charged to rescue.

Sanghyuk argues back that he is not, not at all, that this is a bad comeback — Seokwoo ignores him and lets go of Chanhee to kiss him on the cheek — has Sanghyuk shrieking and pushing him away.

'Disgusting,' Sanghyuk says as Seokwoo pursues him to the living-room. 'I'll rate this place absolute zero star on Yel- Kang Chanhee! Come collect your man!'

Chanhee acts like he didn't hear, nor see anything — wipes the clean tableware dry as he watches events unfold before him, Inseong holding Sanghyuk captive, Sanghyuk trying to run away and landing on the floor, Taeyang patting his butt while Jaeyoon kisses the crown of his head — Seokwoo making kissy lips at Sanghyuk as the evening becomes the night, even as Sanghyuk leaves, early, leading Youngkyun and Taeyang to do the same — they laugh as Seokwoo blows a kiss to Sanghyuk, as Sanghyuk rejects it with a curse.

'Go to hell,' he says, and these are his last words for the night, his very own way of wishing them a happy new year.

The rest of the group does not stay too long: they leave a little after midnight, after one last round of compliments on the apartment — leaving Seokwoo and Chanhee to clean up, and flopping down on their couch once they're done, exhaustion suddenly seeping through every fiber of their being.

'Jesus Christ,' Chanhee mutters — leans back against Seokwoo, into his welcoming arms. 'I'm sleeping in tomorrow.'

'Today,' Seokwoo corrects. unhelpfully — Chanhee ignores him, staying quiet and letting the sleepiness settle into his bones, staring at nothing in particular, as one would do when sleep reaches them, dozing off but not quite settled into Morpheus' embrace, remaining still to better sink into oblivion.

'Youngbin is right,' Seokwoo says after a while, softly — pulling Chanhee out of his drowsiness for a few seconds. 'The view is beautiful.'

'You knew that already.'

'Yes.' Seokwoo's hand, apparently not quite as exhausted as Chanhee, wanders underneath Chanhee's tee-shirt, on his skin, his hip. Chanhee closes his eyes, lets the grazing touch lull him. 'But it still astonishes me. It's fascinating. How beautiful the sunrise is… and how easy it is to get lost in it.'

Chanhee hums — gathers what's left of his strength to answer.

'Right. If we're breaking up, you'll have to get me another apartment just like my old one. Can't live without the view on the river.'

'Alright. Deal. I completely understand.' A pause. 'i loved your view, you know.'

Chanhee opens his eyes — is fully pulled out of sleepiness by the joy of hearing these words. He knew, of course — but Seokwoo has rarely put it into words, and when he did, he had never seemed this attached to it. The past, perhaps — making everything shine again, giving it a new glow, a better angle — making sense of what could have once been illogical, giving meaning to everything.

_ Really,  _ Chanhee asks — listens closely as Seokwoo replies that yes, he loved the view.

'I really missed that, when I went home after the months of renovation. The view. My playground seemed so bleak next to it. Don't get me wrong, I loved the playground, but… your balcony, and the calm of the river…' A pause, Seokwoo's hand stilling on Chanhee's hip. 'You, too.'

Chanhee smiles, shifts just a little, rests his head on Seokwoo's chest.

'Sweet romantic. Charmer.'

Seokwoo chuckles.

'Is it working?'

'Maybe.' Chanhee closes his eyes, once again gained by sleep. 'I like you trying, at the very least.'

'And how do you like the idea of us going to bed?'

Chanhee makes a disgruntled sound, fists Seokwoo's jumper.

'Let's stay here a little. I like it here. It's comfortable. And there's the view.'

Seokwoo sighs — surrenders, still. He shifts, grabs a pillow to support his head, the plaid laying nearby to cover the both of them. Moves around, here and there, but eventually settles back down once the lights are off, and the only source of luminosity is the city outside, still awake, still celebrating the new year.

Chanhee feels himself fall into oblivion, barely hears what Seokwoo whispers to him before he nods off — he dreams a colourful dream, unsubstantial and fleeting — dreams of waves and birds, of light wind and warm hands, a warm body. Dreams of many, many things — but cannot remember any of them, wakes up with an empty mind, devoid of anything except for colours. Glances at Seokwoo, still sleeping, and sneaks out of his arms to take in the new world outside the window. Keeps throwing him looks, in-between observing the people moving underneath and gazing at the river — is fascinated by the way the sun shines on him as it rises, and eventually curls back up in his arms, suddenly missing his warmth — accidentally waking him up, too.

Seokwoo's voice is husky, pleasingly low as he asks what is going on — it vibrates in his chest, underneath Chanhee's fingers.

'Nothing,' Chanhee replies. 'Happy new year.'

Outside, in the sky, clouds hide the sun, briefly — everything is dark for a fleeting moment, and then, it all shines again.

Seokwoo smiles, lovingly.

'Happy new year.'

⁂

The new year brings changes — keeps the old routine and gives it a few twists — remains, in a way, the same as the one before.

Youngbin finds a middle ground with Eddie, actually starts getting along with him — still thinks he does this and that wrong. Juho remains Chanhee's partner at the lab — kindly refuses the move he's offered, tells Chanhee he's fine with a little less amount of money, and an unconditional amount of familiarity. Youngkyun does not stop calling Chanhee at late hours, does not stop texting him random, incomprehensible things — does lessen his amount of calls, because now he has Taeyang to hear him out, and Chanhee has Seokwoo. Sanghyuk is still as busy as ever, overworks himself like always — celebrates this and that a little less, stays home or visits one of them instead of going to the restaurant. Inseong teaches, still; starts getting into psychology — Taeyang opens up, a little more than before, still does not catch the habit of being talkative — Jaeyoon remains in the restaurant he works at, creates new desserts and new courses.

Chanhee — Chanhee changes, in many ways, ones that he does not notice at all, in ways that he supports. He gets a haircut, different than usual; finds pleasure in the colour red, and buys himself a hoodie, underwear, a painting and bedsheets to suit his fancy; finds old mystery novels in a garage sale and buys them all; keeps working his job, going home relieved, happy, miserable, upset, frustrated — happy again, and the cycle continues, goes on, never stops. He dozes off on the couch, or in Seokwoo's arms; makes lazy dinners when he thinks he deserves some comfort after an exhausting day; takes unbelievably long showers; stares out the window on cold days, and stands on the balcony during warmer times, gazes at the view and what it offers, the life unfolding before, beneath him. He's joined by Seokwoo — for the first time for them, for the first year, Seokwoo does not pull back, does not look at the clock — does not announce he's going, remains by his side until one of them finally has enough, and decides to move on — and then, at the end of each day, they end up tangled up, in bed, on the couch — in each other's arms, finding solace in the other's embrace, trusting the sun to rise the following day, on the scenery that bewitches them every day. On some mornings, they watch most of the world wake up and get ready to exist outside of its own perspective, enjoy a few minutes of peace, freeze time for just a moment — appreciate having this together, cherish  _ being  _ together.

Seokwoo kisses Chanhee's forehead, just like he did before; tells him he loves him, just like he did before; loves him unconditionally, and seemingly endlessly, just like he did before — but a little more than last year, a little more every day, even. He remains the same, but Chanhee can see his soul bend, just a little more — can feel his own self leaning forward too, towards him, like a plant, a flower would as it reaches for the sun. Like two sunflowers, Chanhee thinks once, mistaking each other for the star that gives them life — but the comparison is wrong, he realises: two sunflowers facing each other and ignoring the actual sun would die, would get lost in their own world and break together.

Seokwoo is strong, gives Chanhee strength, and vice versa — if they are to be sunflowers, they lean on each other, rather than against — and if they are to be something else entirely, something that defines them a little more, in a less graceful light, they are vines, creepers, invading ruins of who they once were, the foundations of who they are now — the buildings in their hearts, that supposedly represent them, in the end, do not matter as much as one would be led to believe — they grow, tangled, interlaced, no matter how little sunlight shines upon them, no matter how dry the seasons sometimes are. They grow, and nest a thousand things, spiders and flowers and much much more, life and death themselves — never stop growing, never stop budding — they invade every corner, every crack, and would regrow if one ever tried to cut, to pull out this or that root. They grow, and, as the sun rises, as the moon reigns over the skies, as rain falls and is missed, as everything unfolds, as life happens — they bloom.

⁂

'Hey.'

Seokwoo is tall, impossibly tall — on some days, when he comes by the lab with his hair uncombed, locks sticking up here and there, making him look like what crowns his head is a bird's nest rather than hair; Chanhee fears for him. The door frames of the centre are lower than the ones in their apartment — just a few centimeters higher than Seokwoo, and Chanhee can never get rid of the fear of him hitting his head against the door frame of his office, or the lab he's using — always dreads the door frames will shrink throughout the night or a break, and turn onto Seokwoo as he walks into his office, his lab, whatever room at the centre he's using. He sees him hit his head, and fall to the floor while moaning and clutching his head in pain; catches a glimpse of blood on the floor, in his hands, every time the door opens on Seokwoo. 

But it remains fictional, never becomes reality — the door frames never shrink, nor do they hold a specific grudge against Seokwoo: they simply remain there, and are satisfied with brushing against the locks of hair sticking up — let him pass, always, let him waltz up to Chanhee, smile on his face and the coffee Chanhee asked for in hand.

Seokwoo lays a hand on Chanhee's shoulders, bends down to kiss him on the forehead — Juho makes a point to ignore them, as they hold hands, as they exchange greetings and plans in whispers.

'Still okay for that movie screening later?' Chanhee asks as Seokwoo announces he's leaving —  _ sure,  _ Seokwoo says, and he shyly kisses his hand before heading out — once again, the door frames remain where they are, do not hurt him. They never could.

⁂

Seokwoo looks up from where he's sitting on the floor, going through a box they never unpacked when they first moved in.

'Say that again.'

Chanhee obeys, clears his throat before doing so. He's nervous — doesn't feel like having this talk at all, but he has to. He brings his knees to his chest, wraps his arms around them; as if somehow it could protect him from the events happening in his life.

'I said I was offered a transfer near my hometown. I said I didn't accept it.'

'Are you sure about that?'

Seokwoo has straightened himself up — is looking at him intently, head tilted like it always is when he's considering something, asking Chanhee to rethink his thoughts.

'Yeah.' Chanhee takes a deep breath, tries to look him in the eye. Feels very weak as they stare at each other — but Seokwoo does not do anything to support this opinion.

'Alright,' he simply says. Waits a bit before asking why, curious to know Chanhee's mind — mutters  _ alright  _ once more when Chanhee tells him he's fine where he is, with less money but at the very least content — when he almost repeats word for word what Juho had said when he'd told him he'd refused moving to another country.

'No regrets, then?' Seokwoo says later, as they both stand in the kitchen, him making coffee, Chanhee doing the dishes.

'No. Why?'

Seokwoo shrugs, leaning against the counter — a little too tall to make it look dreamy and perfectly homely, but — he fits, here.

'I don't know. What if we broke up and you wanted to move? Wouldn't you feel like you missed a great opportunity?'

Chanhee squints, mostly as an act.

'Are you trying to set the scene for a breakup?'

'As if.' Seokwoo stares at him, one second, two seconds — then, as if Chanhee were pulling him in, as if gravity was only second to the attraction Chanhee exerts on him, he steps forwards, wraps himself around Chanhee, his arms around his waist and his head against his. 'No. I'm not.'

Chanhee looks up, has to crane his neck to meet eyes with him.

'Then why do you ask?'

Seokwoo strokes his right arm, wanders down its curves with his hand — thinks as he caresses him, each touch seeming to bring some kind of order to his thoughts.

'I don't know. Because it could happen, I guess. Though I don't want to,' he quickly adds, and he leans his head against Chanhee's again, hugs him a little tighter. 'I just want what's best for you.'

Chanhee allows himself to forget about the oily sauce pan in the water, drops the spoon he's been holding all this time and leans back against Seokwoo's chest, closes his eyes for just a moment.

'This is what's best for me,' he whispers once they are open again, nuzzling the crook of Seokwoo's neck with his forehead, weak replacement for his wet and shampooy hands, clearly not fit for this moment. 'Trust me.'

_ I've never been happier,  _ he murmurs, just to really get his point across, to leave no room for doubt and its ugly friends to sneak into. Seokwoo has a tendency to overthink, sometimes — and this is not something Chanhee wants him to read differently.

'I'm glad you do.' Seokwoo laughs, simple puff of air exiting his mouth. 'Please know it's mutual.'

Chanhee smiles. Wants to say he already knew that, but doesn't — it would ruin the moment, a little, and Seokwoo's words do not necessitate a verbal answer — so he simply remains there, in his arms, against his chest, and does nothing else; closes his eyes, and focuses on their mingled breathings, on everything that surrounds them.

Truly — he has never been happier.

⁂

Chanhee and Seokwoo's apartment has become a mix of their two personalities — it has a bathroom with blue walls, a proposition Chanhee hated when Seokwoo had first made it, that Seokwoo had somehow managed to turn into a real decision a little after they’d moved in; Chanhee's collection of the  _ Red Pigments  _ series on the upper part of the shelf in the corridor, always missing a book or two, constantly being reread by either Chanhee, or Seokwoo; Seokwoo's old bed, now creaking and probably not making it to the next year, listed as something they have to replace before May; a painting Seokwoo really liked and could not resist buying; a brand new wardrobe that they bought together when Chanhee's fell apart as he was moving out; Seokwoo's old notebooks from back when he was a simple student and nothing more, sagely filed away in a black carton box; the silverware Seokwoo's father gifted them when he and his wife first visited the place; the plants Taeyang gifted Chanhee on one of his birthdays; the lone figurine of  _ Rebecca, Princessly Friend of the Unicorns _ that Seokwoo can never seem to want to get rid of… It has a little bit of everything, not quite the entirety of their selves but parts, pieces of who they were, who they are now — enough for strangers, newcomers to know what defines them, to understand them on some level.

They change things up, from time to time; the way the couch is set, or the location of the coffee table; they buy a new desk, or a new mirror for the bathroom — let their home evolve just like them, make it experience what they go through. Sometimes it's not much, but on other times it takes a day, or more than one, and it leaves them pleasingly tired, sinking into bed, into each other's embrace before dozing off for many hours, drowning into oblivion until their bodies allow them to rise again. Staring at the sunrise as they shake off the remnants of sleep clinging to them, sometimes going back to sleep when their time is void of worries and only made up of freedom.

The apartment is bigger than Chanhee's former home — it has everything it used to have, but slightly larger, wider, higher — there is a desk in the living-room, and a second shelf for DVDs; there is enough space on the kitchen counter for a coffee maker, a blender and an unfinished box of pasta to room together; enough space in the bathroom for him to walk out of the shower without knocking his elbow on the sink, to dry his hair without having to twist and crane his neck to be able to look at his reflection — there is enough space in the bedroom to navigate freely, to the wardrobe or the desk by the wall opposite the one of the bed, and there is a window, that also looks onto the river, that did not exist back in the old apartment.

It's familiar, most definitely — it is different from what Chanhee once lived in, but with furniture that belonged to him or Seokwoo; with familiar things such as the view, his belongings,  _ Seokwoo _ — it feels like home, feels like the right place to be.

And this is where he stands, where he has been standing for a few years now; in a home that is his, but not fully, that also belongs to Seokwoo — by Seokwoo's side, sometimes metaphorically, always, eventually, literally. This is where he stands, and where he wants to stand later in life — although, perhaps, if Seokwoo, if life offers them another place, if they must move somewhere else, he's willing to consider it, willing to follow Seokwoo, as long as they remain together.

As for now — as he stands on the balcony, and Seokwoo, at his side, comments on the people on the river disembarking from a cabin cruiser, their arms close enough to touch — as he leans his head on Seokwoo's shoulder, and hums as he listens to him making up stories — he is more than content, more than fine with what he has.

'I love you,' he murmurs, as the sun starts to set, and the scenery before them becomes a painting, a dreamlike reality — one of their favourite moments.

Seokwoo snakes an arm around his waist, and bends down just a little to kiss his forehead — Chanhee gets a whiff of his scent, closes his eyes as his lips graze his skin.

'I love you too,' Seokwoo replies.

Chanhee breathes in, breathes out — opens his eyes again, and meets Seokwoo's gaze.

He blooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is an end note!! if you've reached this point, have read this all — thanks a lot!! i'm grateful that you gave this fic time, and a chance.
> 
> as for the personal note, here goes:  
> i would have made this a gift, but gifts are a heavy weight when you're unsure of the quality of your work. so this ends up here.  
> for dear ao3 user 4_Jwj; i don't want this to be too long, or too cheesy, but! i'd like you to know this is dedicated to you. i'd had this idea for some time, but had sort of given up on it — your comment on abend fueled me, brought it back to life. how? a mystery, but i'm guessing you always hyping up my fics up helped big time. and i'm eternally grateful, not bc now i have a 60k rochan sitting proudly in my docs, but bc you've always been incredibly kind to me, and have always complimented my works. it means a lot (esp. coming from you... ceo of hwiwoonfic club...), and i just want you to know that . words are not enough to convey how thankful i am. you are, and i say that without a single hyperbole, the very best. (love u... hope u don't mind this ment...)


End file.
